Nothing Hidden
by SnapeIsMyHero
Summary: Complete. Snape-centered fanfic based on Severitus' challenge. Takes place in the summer after Year 4. Includes Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter. No sex, no gore.
1. About This FanFic

This fanfic is partly a response to Severitus' challenge. However, it is an edited version of a fanfic that I wrote earlier, which had somewhat different elements and an entirely different ending. Not to mention half as long! The original fanfic was simply a continuation of Book 4, taking place immediately after the book's end. I was never happy with the result, because it lacked a certain dramatic component, and that is why I've chosen to weave Severitus' ideas into it.

I must warn you that I'm American and I don't know enough about British culture to be completely accurate in my writing. Whenever possible I use Internet resources to gather information, but I'm sure there are mistakes that I could not avoid making under the circumstances. If you see any, please let me know so that I can correct them.

In Chapter 9 the potion used is completely made up by me (although I hereby give full permission for anyone else to use it). The name is simply two Latin words, the meaning of which should be pretty obvious.

In Chapter 15 I had to use some iffy deduction to conclude that Quirell had only taught at Hogwarts for one year - the year Harry first came to Hogwarts. This could be wrong, but I couldn't find any evidence either way. If you know something about this - let me know!

**A couple of people noted that there's a small gap between Chapter 14 and Chapter 15. There probably will be another chapter in between them eventually, one that will actually have the conversation that took place. However, it's been driving me insane and I can't get it the way I want it, so I'll keep working on it for now and post it when I'm reasonably sure that I have the charactarization right. For the moment I hope the story works okay without that part.**

As far as warnings about the content of this story... There isn't any gratuitous violence or explicit sexual scenes (as a matter of fact there is no mention of sex at all). This story could have been rated PG according to FF.net's guidelines, but I would rather rate it higher. This story contains only characters already established in the books, and none that are my own invention. This story contains several (minor) character deaths, without any gore, basically nothing that should upset people!

This fanfic is made up of 15 chapters, each chapter having an average word count of 1456, the longest having 2491 words and the shortest having 682 words.

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The story can also be read from my homepage.

You will find the link on my profile.

**http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=335638**

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For some reason the chapter drop-down menu on this page is not working.

To start reading go to...

**http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1226005&chapter=2**


	2. Chapter 1

**FOREWORD**

As we all know, at the end of Book 4 Harry leaves Hogwarts for the summer, gets into the Dursleys' car with Uncle Vernon, and is presumably on his way home. For those who need a reminder, I quote the last two paragraphs of the book.

"There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursleys' car. As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come . . . and he would have to meet it when it did."

Uncle Vernon did not speak to Harry as they drove through London on their way to the Dursleys' home. Harry gazed silently out the window at the passing streets and buildings, glad that this time his Uncle chose to ignore him rather than berate and abuse him. His thoughts were dark, there was nothing to distract him as tormenting images swam through his mind.

They were close to Privet Drive when Harry began to notice that something was not right. A fire truck passed them, horn blaring. People gathered in small groups on the sidewalks, craning their necks after the truck, talking excitedly.

As they turned onto Privet Drive, Harry's mouth fell open in a gasp of horror. Where Number Four had stood, there was nothing but smoldering ash and charred debris.

The car screeched to a halt, still half a block from the blackened tract; fire trucks and news crews blocked the rest of the way. Uncle Vernon, seemingly in slow motion, stepped out of the car and slowly, dizzily, began to weave his way between the vehicles clogging the street. Harry remained in the car, rooted to the seat, frozen in place by the overwhelming shock he had just received.

Because he knew what this was.

This was no ruptured gas pipe, though later Muggle news may report it as such. Only one thing could cause such devastation.

A sudden rush of adrenaline caused Harry to jerk forward, as though the car's seat had released him without warning. He fumbled with the door, not knowing what exactly he would do once he was out of the car, knowing only that he had to get out. In his haste every action seemed prolonged; the car door seemed stuck; his fingers felt rigid; his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose making it difficult to focus. What was wrong with the blasted door handle! The sweat on his palms made it difficult to grasp the curved metal. Harry pushed at the door with his shoulder and it finally opened, nearly spilling him onto the road.

Once out of the car, he looked wildly around, the noise and disarray assaulting his senses. His throat tightened as an acrid burning smell reached his nostrils. He was disoriented, his only clear thought was that he must put some distance between himself and this scene of destruction.

He began to back away, his eyes still riveted to the ruins of the Dursleys' home, his legs feeling as if they belonged to someone else, and backed into someone standing behind him. Heart thudding, he whirled around, a strangled cry bursting from deep within him. He found himself face to face with Mr. Weasley, who looked as shell-shocked and disheveled as Harry felt. Mr. Weasley's eyes were glued to the debris-riddled patch of land where Number Four had previously stood.

Harry desperately wanted to speak, but words did not come to him. Moments passed that might as well have been hours. Then, Mr. Weasley's eyes abruptly focused on Harry, and he seemed to remember what he was there to do.

"Come along Harry, quickly!" he grasped Harry by the upper arm and steered him away from the crowd.

Two Ministry cars were parked down the street. Mr. Weasley held open the door of one car and Harry, still feeling numb, climbed into the back seat. The door shut, muffling the noise outside, but the roar remained inside Harry's head. Through the tinted window he could see Mr. Weasley having an animated conversation with another man. He seemed to be gesturing toward the Dursleys' car, abandoned in the middle of the street.

Hedwig! Harry remembered his owl and felt a rush of guilt. He had left her without a thought in the back of the Dursleys' car. In his haste to escape he had forgotten all about his loyal companion, but now some sense was coming back to him. He scrambled across the seat and tried to pry the door open, his fingers again refusing to cooperate.

The door came open, opened from the outside by Mr. Weasley. He held Hedwig's cage in his arms. Harry took the cage from him and wrapped his arms protectively around it, his nose and chin pressing painfully into the bars.

Mr. Weasley got into the driver's seat and turned to look at Harry. Harry felt his eyes on him but did not move.

The car turned around, maneuvering through traffic and curious onlookers, and turned onto a side street, leaving Privet Drive behind.

How long they drove, Harry could not tell. His mind was numb, thoughts came delayed and fragmented. He was only scantily aware that he was in a car at all, and his thoughts were not collected enough for him to wonder where he was being taken. 


	3. Chapter 2

The car halted. Harry looked up, but there was nothing to see except darkness outside the car window. He may as well have been at the bottom of a deep well.

For all he knew, he was.

The door opened and Mr. Weasley helped him out. He attempted to pry Hedwig's cage out of Harry's locked fingers, but Harry's grip remained firm. With a hand on Harry's shoulder, Mr. Weasley guided him down a narrow path.

As they came out from behind a grove of trees, a full moon burst through the clouds and Harry saw in front of him the unmistakable silhouette of Hogwarts. The school was completely dark and looked eerie in the night.

They made their way to the main entrance, where the tall oak door was firmly locked. Mr. Weasley knocked twice, the sounds echoing deep inside the school through the silent and empty halls. For many minutes there was no answer, then the door swung open. They stepped into the dark entrance hall.

The doorway leading to the Great Hall was to the right, but Mr. Weasley lead Harry to a small chamber off the hall, to the left. He pulled a chair and compelled Harry to sit down.

"You will he safe here, Harry," he said in a soothing tone, but not managing to sound convinced of his own words. "I must return to the Ministry as soon as possible."

He seemed to wait for several moments, but Harry did not answer. His arms were still tightly wrapped around Hedwig's cage, and he stared at a spot on the floor, though in the darkness he could not see the floor at all.

Mr. Weasley fumbled with something at the doorway, and a weak light from a single candle began to cast quivering shadows across the small room. After another pause, during which he seemed to be thinking of something else to say, Mr. Weasley left the room, his footsteps echoing loudly.

Mr. Weasley spent several minutes in hushed conversation with someone. Harry could not catch the words, perhaps because the roar in his head was increasing in magnitude. But he did hear the castle door swing shut with a deep thud.

No one came.

In the small room, surrounded by flickering yellow light from the candle, Harry felt blood rush to his head. The roar that had filled his head for many hours intensified, the pounding in his temples felt like a hammer. His heart was racing, his face bathed in cold sweat. He had felt something like this before, when he had collapsed in Divination during third year, but this was more intense, more painful. The room began a sickening rolling motion, like a small boat on a turbulent sea. Suddenly it tilted at a crazy angle, and Harry would have tumbled to the floor if not for the firm hand that had descended on his shoulder.

For several moments he tried to catch his breath. His vision began to clear, and he no longer felt himself in danger of collapsing to the floor.

He looked up.

Professor Snape towered above him, his thin face more pale in the dim candlelight than Harry had ever seen it. His countenance was unreadable.

"Put down that cage, Potter," Snape said in a low but expressionless voice, "and take this." He held out a cup.

Harry obeyed automatically. Four years of dealing with Snape had taught him not to hesitate.

He looked into the cup, which seemed to be filled with a dark, hot liquid. Enough sense had returned to him that he was suspicious of what the cup might contain.

A potion? No, only strong tea. He drank it in several large gulps.

Snape seemed to have backed away from him, toward the door. If Harry had seen his expression he would have surmised that Snape was unprepared to deal with the situation that had been dropped in his lap.

"Dumbledore is on his way," he finally said. "He was delayed at the Ministry."

Harry nodded, not because he comprehended, but as an automatic response. He wished Snape would leave. The small, dark room was oppressive, as if the walls might close in on him. Snape's presence filled up vital space, the air he needed to breathe.

Snape left. The room fell silent, becoming more oppressive rather than less so. Harry felt frozen again, anchored to the chair, his muscles tense, afraid to move lest he make a sound and disturb the uncanny stillness that had once again descended upon Hogwarts.

How long he sat that way — minutes, hours — he had no way of knowing, only that sometime later there was a flurry of sound and voices, bright lights, and finally, Dumbledore appeared in front of him. Harry saw only his feet and the hem of his brilliant blue robes, until Dumbledore lifted Harry's face, forcing him to look up. The old wizard's eyes were sad and worried.

"I'm afraid I can't stay long, Harry. I'm needed at the Ministry." He paused. "No doubt you understand what has happened."

Harry nodded numbly.

"Your aunt and cousin . . ." Dumbledore's voice trailed off.

"Dead." Harry's voice lacked any emotion. It was a statement, not a question he needed answered.

"Yes," Dumbledore's voice was gentle, as if by lowering his voice he was attempting to soften the blow he imagined his words would cause.

But Harry was not yet capable of feeling. He had only thawed enough to be wondering what would happen to him, now that summer with the Dursleys was no longer a possibility.

"We must decide quickly what is to be done with you, Harry," Dumbledore seemed to have read his mind.

"Where can I go? The Weasleys?" Harry was hopeful. Even in this terrible time he longed for the warm atmosphere at The Burrow.

"No. Arthur Weasley is needed at the Ministry. You would not be safe there at this time."

"Sirius," Harry whispered, knowing already what the answer would be.

"No, Harry, he cannot protect you now."

Harry stayed silent. There was no other place he could suggest.

"If only it were not summer . . . but that cannot be helped. Harry, I suspect that for the next few weeks the Ministry will be in chaos, unable to provide for your safety. You must remain at Hogwarts. Deserted as it is, I still believe it is the safest place for you."

Harry nodded, the knot in his throat preventing him from speaking.

"I cannot be here, as I said, and most of the staff are gone. All who remain are Madam Pomfrey, Professor Trelawney, and Professor Snape." Dumbledore eyed Harry with a worried expression, but Harry did not move or speak. Dumbledore sighed. "There seems to be no choice Harry, we must keep you safe, and for the moment I have nothing else to offer you."

The pained expression on Dumbledore's face momentarily brought Harry out of his stupor.

"It's alright, Professor," he said in what he hoped was a voice that did not tremble. "I'll be fine."

"I'm glad to hear that, Harry," the weary expression remained on Dumbledore's face, "because I must leave you now."

Harry nodded, feeling the chill return to him.

Dumbledore left the room, but left the torch he had brought with him. The room was now light, although Dumbledore's exit had left it dismal and still. Harry could hear Dumbledore moving about in the entrance hall, and voices, but no words reached him. He heard the castle door shut.

Before Harry could regress to his stupor, Snape swept into the room, his billowing robes causing the candle to snuff out and the torch light flicker. He seemed to have a new purpose and determination.

"Up, Potter, and follow me," he ordered.

Harry stood up, grasped Hedwig's cage in one hand, and followed Snape.

He thought they would ascend the marble staircase, but Snape walked passed it into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was so dark that Snape's torch made only a small circle of light around them as they walked. At the other end Snape muttered a password and a panel opened in the wall directly behind where the staff sat at meal times. A staircase was within, spiraling downward into a black pit.

Harry was too numb and too tired to do anything but follow Snape blindly as they descended the narrow staircase to the dungeons. The walls turned from white marble to wet granite, and finally they reached the bottom. It seemed to be a maze of passageways and corridors, lit by torches that cast a flickering orange glow. They went down first one corridor and then another, and at one junction Harry thought he recognized the hallway leading to the Potions classrooms. They veered away down another corridor and finally came to an oak door. Snape pulled it open and ushered Harry inside.

This, thought Harry, must be where Snape lives.

It was a large room, lit by a torch at each corner. The room was sparsely furnished, the stone floor bare. Harry shivered involuntarily.

"Sit, Potter," Snape pointed to the bed.

Harry sat.

Snape moved about the room, muttering incomprehensible words at certain objects, moving papers from the top of his desk to a drawer; until finally he seemed satisfied that all was in its rightful place.

"This is the only properly protected room at the moment," said Snape with evident disgust, either because he felt that every Hogwarts room ought to be so protected, or because the fact that they were not protected meant that he had to give up his own room to Harry.

"I am securing the door behind me. Do not attempt to leave this room, and do not open this door." He was clearly convinced that Harry would do exactly this as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He did not wait for Harry's answer, but turned and stalked out of the room, the door shutting with a thump behind him without his hand ever touching the doorknob.

Left alone again, Harry took in his surroundings dully. His head had stopped throbbing, but he was exhausted. After placing Hedwig's cage on a table away from any possible drafts, Harry regarded the bed. Sighing, he admitted to himself that there was no other furniture in the room suitable for sleeping, and the cold stone floor was out of the question. Still fully clothed, he climbed into bed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. 


	4. Chapter 3

Harry awoke late the following morning rested and with a clear head. But his heart gave a harrowing thump as he recalled the events of the previous night, understanding coursing through his brain in a flood of thoughts and images.

He remembered where he was, and sat up in bed. The room was as dark now as it had been the previous night. Of course, the dungeons _would_ be dark, illuminated only by torch light.

He felt acutely that he was not alone, and turned slowly until he faced the other side of the room. As he had expected, Snape sat at his desk, his piercing eyes fastened on Harry. In his hand was a quill, and in front of him the desk was littered with bits of parchment and several open books.

Neither Snape nor Harry spoke. Harry was afraid to break eye contact, so for a time they stared mutely at each other. Harry's skin crawled as he felt Snape's penetrating gaze probe him. Like many times before, Harry wondered uneasily if Snape could read minds.

Finally Snape dropped his eyes back onto the parchment in front of him, and returned to his writing. Harry was left in the uncomfortable position of being ignored as well as fearful of causing a disturbance by moving from where he sat. Only his eyes moved, and took in the fact that his trunk had been brought down and now stood at the foot of the bed, and that Hedwig had apparently been fed.

Several minutes of sitting motionless convinced Harry that Snape had no intention of acknowledging him. He was unable to sit still much longer, his legs already beginning to cramp. He got up as stealthily as he could and kneeled by his trunk. Opening the lid a few centimeters he felt inside and pulled out the first book his hand groped.

He returned to the bed with Quidditch Through The Ages and began to read. His mind drifted often from the pages he read, but nonetheless he was able to pass the time.

He jumped when Snape stood up, his chair scraping across the floor. Apparently his work was finished.

"Come along, Potter," he ordered, walking past Harry and opening the door.

They walked in silence until Harry began to recognize the vacant rooms they were passing. He was better oriented now, he believed he knew how to get from Snape's room to the Potions classrooms, and from there up out of the dungeons.

When they finally reached the Great Hall, Harry felt he could breathe again. The enchanted ceiling was crystalline blue, sunlight streaming down to the marble floor.

There was a single place set at the only table in the Hall. The meal laid out was meager compared to the regular school meals, but Harry quickly ate every crumb, his appetite only slightly impaired by the presence of Snape, who stood behind him, his stare drilling into the back of Harry's head.

As Harry finished his meal, the plates disappeared through the table. He surmised that although it was summer, the house elves working down in the kitchens must still be at their posts.

Snape seemed to be in an agitated mood, he waved impatiently for Harry to follow him as he walked out of the Great Hall, and Harry ran to catch up.

They walked through the familiar hallways and up familiar staircases, each one deserted and still. Where were the ghosts, Peeves, or Filch? Was Hogwarts in the summer devoid even of its poltergeist? Professor Dumbledore had told him that two other members of Hogwarts staff were still at the school, but for the moment Harry felt himself at the mercy of Snape. Who knew what Snape had in store for him? Harry could only hope for Dumbledore's rapid return.

They came finally to the Charms classroom on the seventh floor. Snape picked up a book from the desk and seemed to study it intently. There was a long, uncomfortable pause, during which Harry studied the pattern on the floor tiles.

Snape's face twitched and he put the book down, resigned to get on with what could not be avoided.

"Professor Dumbledore wishes that you begin studying new spells and protections. You will begin immediately."

Harry looked up, surprised and more than a little unnerved. Did Snape intend to give him dueling lessons? He recalled the last time Snape participated in a dueling lesson, resulting in a most unfortunate incident involving a giant snake that would have attacked a student had Harry not been able to stop it. Harry did not feel that he wanted to repeat this experience.

"You will begin by studying these books," Snape waived to the stack on the desk, "and practicing the incantations I have marked. When you have completed your study, we will begin practical exercises."

Practical exercises? It looked as if Harry's fears were about to be realized.

"I will leave you to your studies," finished Snape, and looking visibly relieved he exited the room, leaving Harry staring dejectedly at the pile of books that he was apparently required to learn.

Harry picked up a book and found the first hex marked with a black ribbon. He thumbed through each book in turn, and found that dozens of pages were thus marked. How many of these did Snape expect him to put to memory?

Harry spent the afternoon reading and practicing alone in the Charms classroom, remembering fondly the days when the lessons he had learned in this room were mere fluff; repelling pillows, floating feathers, and making pineapples tapdance across a desk. What he was practicing now was altogether different. These were not the hexes he was already familiar with, causing boils or warts, or engulfing the opponent in a cloud of laughing gas. These were meant to do real harm. Harry shivered as he thought about having any of these used on him. And that was exactly what was going to happen, wasn't it? That was what 'practical exercises' would be all about. His stomach felt queasy as he imagined the sneer sure to be on Snape's face as he fired hex after hex at Harry.

After hours of studying, Harry felt tired and hungry. Snape did not appear, and Harry did not dare leave the classroom and wander around the deserted school.

He began to wish that Snape would come, to get those 'exercises' started and be done with it.

When Snape still had not appeared by the time the sun had lowered to the horizon in a brilliant display or orange and red, Harry was in a foul mood. When he heard footsteps approaching in the hall outside the classroom door, his eyes narrowed and he raised his wand, preparing to fire off a rapid succession of hexes he was reasonably sure he could manage.

The footsteps stopped outside the door. Harry aimed. Consequences be damned!

The door swung open, and in the doorway stood . . . Remus Lupin.

Harry nearly dropped his wand in shock.

Lupin's worried face broke into a smile as he saw Harry and rushed forward. Behind him Harry could not help seeing Snape, whose expression was grim. As Harry was enfolded into Lupin's arms, Snape snorted, turned on his heel, and stalked off down the hall.

"Harry! Let me look at you," Lupin was saying, and Harry pulled his eyes off the rapidly disappearing back of Snape. "Are you alright?"

Harry had to think for a moment. Was he alright?

"I'm fine," he said simply. Anything more he couldn't put into words.

Suddenly he realized, Lupin had once taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and wasn't it Professor Dumbledore's desire that Harry begin a serious study of precisely that? Lupin has helped Harry learn the Expecto Patronum incantation, and Harry remembered his patience — exactly what he knew Snape to be lacking. Surely a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would make a better instructor for Harry than a Potions Master!

"Professor Lupin," he implored, "Professor Dumbledore wants Snape to teach me Defense Against the Dark Arts, and now Snape wants me to learn off all these hexes by heart," Harry gestured at the large pile of books on the desk. "And I . . ."

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," admonished Lupin. "And I'm afraid that I agree with Professor Dumbledore in his choice of teachers. I have taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Professor Snape has knowledge that I do not possess. I could teach you only theories, what you need now is practical applications."

Harry could not believe his ears. Lupin and Snape hated each other. Lupin knew that Snape despised Harry. And here he was, taking Snape's side!

Lupin came over to the desk and began to flip through the books Harry had spent most of the day studying. He frowned as he glanced over the pages, realizing how advanced the incantations were. He was worried. Perhaps not about Snape, as Harry clearly was; because Lupin believed and trusted in Albus Dumbledore's judgment; but about Harry. Harry, not yet fifteen, studying curses meant to inflict suffering and death, because in a short time he may have to defend himself against the most powerful and brutal enemy the Wizarding World had ever known.

He put down the book he had been looking at, and met Harry's eyes.

"I came as soon as I could, Harry. The moon . . ." Lupin's voice trailed off and Harry recalled that the moon had been full the night he had arrived back at Hogwarts. Lupin would have been in seclusion.

"I will arrange to stay close by. I will help with anything I can," Lupin finished softly.

He doesn't understand, thought Harry rebelliously. He doesn't know how Snape loathes me.

But Lupin was his only friend now, the only friend he might have close by. Harry attempted a smile.

"I understand," he said, hoping his voice did not betray the fact that he did not, "and I will try my best."

There was a drawn out pause as each considered the other.

"Have you heard anything from Sirius?" Harry ventured to ask.

"No, but he will be coming, he will want to be close." Lupin frowned suddenly. "Harry, I need you to understand something. I'm afraid you will not take it seriously if Professor Snape tells you, but you must take it seriously from me. It is imperative that you understand." He waited until Harry nodded before continuing. "You must not contact anyone." He ignored the aghast look on Harry's face. "No owls. No outside contact. You must not leave the grounds." He watched Harry carefully as he finished.

Deep inside Harry knew that Lupin would not give him such a command unless it was of vital importance. But Harry could not understand how he could be expected to hide, to cower within the walls of Hogwarts, without even sending word to his friends.

"Hermione, Ron . . ." he trailed off helplessly.

"Ron undoubtedly knows what has happened, from his father. Hermione will learn what she needs to from Ron. They will both be told not to contact you," Lupin reached out a hand toward Harry. "You must understand that contacting them would put in danger not only you, but them as well."

Harry could see the point. Right now he was a danger to anyone who was too near or too dear to him. He would do anything to protect his friends.

"I understand," he finally said, having managed to force the words past the gigantic lump in his throat. Lupin did not look convinced.

"I take it I have your word then?" he asked.

"Yes."

Lupin seemed to think that this was satisfactory for the moment, and changed the subject.

"You look tired, Harry, have you had dinner?"

Anger surged through Harry again as he recalled that he had spent most of the day in the Charms classroom, and that Snape had not concerned himself to provide Harry with a meal. Still, Harry was not about to complain about Snape again to Lupin, who clearly did not sympathize.

"Not yet," he answered, "will you stay long enough to eat with me?" He was remembering the scene at breakfast and hoping that he would not have to spend another meal alone with Snape, at least that day.

"Yes, I believe I can stay that long," Lupin said after some consideration.

They left the room together, and went down to the Great Hall.

They did not see Snape until after their meal. He appeared at the appropriate time to open the castle door for Lupin. Harry realized that there must be charms placed around the castle to prevent anyone from entering — or leaving — without Snape's knowledge.

The entrance hall was large enough to hold an entire house comfortably, but as the three of them gathered at the door, it seemed to shrink, as if Lupin and Snape's past was eating away at the space.

Lupin reluctantly addressed Snape, who wore a most uninviting grimace.

"As I already said to Harry, I believe that he needs to put all the effort he can into learning defenses that may be of use to him in the future," he said. "I suggest that you establish a routine." He paused. "Including a time for regular meals and rest." He had gathered from the way Harry had devoured his food that Snape had kept him at his studies for most of the day.

Snape's lip curled further, and his voice seemed dangerously low, "I believe Albus left me in charge here, Lupin."

Lupin looked for a moment as if he was about to make an angry reply, but thought better of it.

"I'll come back tomorrow," he said in a normal voice. He turned to leave.

"Wait."

Lupin turned to look at Snape, who was holding out a small package.

"What's that?"

"If we are to have a werewolf lurking outside the castle walls," Snape sneered, "I would prefer it if you would be so kind as to remember to take your potion."

Harry knew Lupin was livid, though outwardly he hid his fury well. He took the package from Snape without speaking, and left the castle.

Snape shut the door with a thunderous clang, and stood for a prolonged moment with his back to Harry. When he turned around, Harry could see that he was angrier than ever. His eyes flashed.

"Complaining to the first person who will listen to your whining," he sneered, "so Potter-like." And he swept past Harry, taking the only light with him.

Left in the darkness, Harry struggled with his own anger. He reminded himself that while alone with Snape, he could not afford to answer back. An angry Snape, with no one to control him, was not someone he wanted to provoke. But _why_ was Snape always making snide comments about Harry's parents? 


	5. Chapter 4

Over the next few days a routine developed.

Harry would wake to find Snape surveying him from the other side of the room, which tended to ruin the rest of the day for him. Snape would march him down to the Great Hall for breakfast, then upstairs to the Charms classroom, where new books appeared daily for Harry to study.

Lupin's parting words apparently had some effect on Snape, because from then on he came promptly at dinner time to escort Harry through the school to the Great Hall. Harry found meals disheartening. Snape stood behind him as he ate, his eyes following every morsel that Harry put in his mouth.

After the meal, Snape grudgingly allowed Harry several hours of free time, during which Harry was really only free to wander through the empty ground floor rooms. Then Harry spent more time studying before being marched back down to the Great Hall, and then to the dungeon room. The door would shut behind Snape, and Harry would be left with only his own depressing thoughts for company. Hedwig had been taken to the owlery, apparently Snape was concerned that Harry would use her to send out messages. He needn't have bothered, Harry had given his word to Lupin.

Lupin came twice, looking thin and tired, and on the last occasion he told Harry that he would be traveling to meet Sirius. As they must stay undetected, they would travel without magic. Harry could not expect them until the following week. Harry tried to gather information about the world outside of Hogwarts, but each time he asked, Lupin only shook his head, avoiding Harry's eyes.

Harry found it surprisingly easy to get along with Snape. He figured out that if he stayed silent and followed Snape's orders quickly enough, Snape was content to say as little as possible to him. As a matter of fact, aside from instructions during Harry's Defense lessons, Snape wasted few words. In the morning it was "Up, Potter," and after meals it was "Follow me, Potter," but there was very little else. Loneliness cut into Harry, but he was convinced that Snape still paid more attention to him than comfort would have allowed.

After a week of studying, Harry felt that he had memorized as many spells as would fit into his head.

Apparently, Snape shared this view, because for the next three mornings he hesitated, each day a little longer, before leaving Harry surrounded by his spell books. New books stopped appearing on the desk, and Harry found himself reading about the same hexes repeatedly to pass the time.

On the fourth morning Snape had evidently made up his mind to put an end to the dallying.

"We will begin practical lessons this morning," he said, "but first I will teach you a simple shield."

Easier said than done, Snape thought to himself. A shield was a relatively simple spell to learn, and in fact by the end of the fourth year a Hogwarts student had already been taught several similar spells, but a shield strong enough to hold up against a true attack was altogether different.

When after numerous tries Harry had managed to produce a shield only as faint and wispy as his first Patronus, Snape sighed with frustration. Was the boy dim? He felt close to losing his patience.

"That will be all," he said after blasting apart another one of Harry's thin shields with a simple disarming spell. "We will attempt this again after dinner."

Harry was angry and frustrated as well. He was tired; his wand arm was aching; his shields refused to hold; and he sensed Snape's growing displeasure. Most of all, Harry hated that Snape thought he was incapable of learning a simple spell.

Harry brooded all through dinner, looking so despondent that Snape called off the afternoon lesson in favor of marching Harry down to the Potions classroom and dosing him with a foul concoction that he brewed in a small silver cauldron. Harry spent the better part of the next hour gargling and spitting in the bathroom.

Snape must have been intent on making up for lost time, because that night they met for another lesson. It was a change from being left alone in Snape's dismal dungeon room, but Harry felt tired and wretched. His first attempt at a shield failed to produce even a wispy arch around him, and Snape glared at him.

"Again," he commanded.

Harry tried. Again, and again. He thought his last shield looked stronger, but it must have been wishful thinking because a flick of Snape's wand caused it to disintegrate.

"Again," Snape barked.

Harry flopped down in a chair and pushed his wand away from himself across the desk. Snape's glare had no effect on him. He was finished.

In fairness to Snape, he was justified in his frustration. He had managed to keep his temper through several hours of this failed exercise; he was under the stress of having sole responsibility for the safety of Voldemort's next target; and having been banished from his own room by Harry's presence, he had not slept well in days. He was coming to the end of his patience.

"I said, _Again_!" he barked at the slumped Harry.

Harry didn't move.

Snape raised his wand, and his eyes narrowed, "I am about to hex you with boils, Potter, and unless there is a shield in front of you when I do, you will be spending the night with Madam Pomfrey."

Snape was shaking with anger; a few stray sparks flew out of the tip of his wand.

Harry seized his own wand barely in time. He saw Snape's wand emit a short burst of light, which cut through the air toward his unprotected face. Harry threw his left hand in front of his eyes.

There was silence. Also, no pain. Harry lowered his arm, and saw Snape gaping at him from behind a luminous blue haze.

"Well," Snape finally said, "I see that I have found the way to get through to you. Pity I hadn't thought of cursing you earlier."

From behind the blue haze, Harry glared. Hadn't thought of it? When did Snape think of anything else?

Whatever had caused Harry's block earlier was gone. His shields were strong now, even Snape was satisfied after testing him thoroughly.

Snape was truly relieved. The thought of failing to teach Harry the spells Dumbledore expected him to learn was unbearable. When the boy had proven to be so obtuse, Snape could see himself being replaced by the likes of Remus Lupin. _That_ he felt he could not stand. For years he had desired the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, only to see it go to those who were clearly less knowledgeable in the field. Werewolf, indeed!

Perhaps because of this, Snape seemed to ease up on Harry after that night. At least, he no longer locked him in the dungeon room immediately after supper.

Harry would have appreciated this, if only there had been anywhere else he could go. The dungeons were a gloomy place, and in the evenings Snape worked in one of the Potions classrooms, causing acrid smells to waft through the corridors. Several times Harry had looked into the room where Snape was working, but Snape had ignored him.

Alone and bored in Snape's dreary room, Harry's thoughts were always dark. He was worried about Sirius and Lupin. It was days past their expected arrival, and Harry had no way of knowing what may have befallen them. He worried also about his friends, and Professor Dumbledore. He had no one to share his worries with — it never occurred to him to seek out Snape's council.

Finally Harry could stand it no longer. The atmosphere of the dungeons threatened to suffocate him. As they left the Great Hall that evening, Harry asked if he could spend the evening in the library.

Snape looked as though he would like to refuse, then changed his mind.

"Fine," he conceded, "as a matter of fact I have business there myself."

Harry groaned inwardly. Did Snape have to watch him every minute?

Once at the library Snape headed for the restricted section, and Harry went to the farthest corner of the library. He had intended to try to find books on Quidditch, but now he sat down by the window, the first window he had seen so far at Hogwarts than was not covered by heavy drapes. He gazed dully out into the twilight outside, his eyes passing over Hagrid's abandoned shack, and out over the grounds.

Something caught the corner of his vision. He looked, and jumped up excitedly. In the far corner of the lawn, where the trees grew thick, stood a great black dog.

_Sirius_.

For a moment, Harry lost his head. It had been so long since he had any true companionship, or even what could pass as a civil conversation. It was clear that he was not thinking straight, because he ran across the library to where Snape was absorbed in a thick tome.

"Professor! I saw. . ." too late, Harry caught himself.

Snape looked alarmed. The book he was holding snapped shut.

"What did you see, Potter?" he demanded, and when Harry hesitated Snape grasped him by the arm and shook him. "Where?"

Left with no choice, Harry said weakly, "Sirius Black."

Snape looked as if he had tasted something sour. He began to drag Harry toward the library door.

"Professor Snape," Harry begged, "please let him in. He's only here to help!"

Snape ignored him.

Harry's arm hurt under Snape's vice-like grip. He stumbled behind Snape as he was dragged across Hogwarts. Snape finally let him go once they reached the Great Hall. After glaring Harry into sullen silence, Snape left him. Minutes later Harry heard angry voices in the direction of the staff room. He thought recognized Lupin's voice, but could not catch the exact words.

His eyes jumped to the window. In a second he was out of his chair and peering behind the heavy drape. He could just see the grove of trees, and there . . . his heart leapt.

He knew what he had to do.

He ran to the dungeons as fast as he dared to go down the steep staircase, and rummaged through his trunk until he found the Marauder's Map. Quickly chanting "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!_" Harry watched lines appear on the parchment. There. The passageway out of the castle.

Emerging from the dungeons, he quickly found the right room, and muttered "_Bluebeard_" to the gryphon statue in the corner. It sprang aside, revealing a large crevice in the wall.

Without hesitation, Harry stepped through it. 


	6. Chapter 5

Harry emerged from a crevice behind a tall column. He was unnerved to discover that while he was navigating the complex underground passageway the sun had disappeared and the grounds were shrouded in a murky darkness.

He ran almost blindly toward the trees where he had first spotted his godfather.

Once there, he called out to him softly.

Hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders from behind, and forced him to turn around.

"Harry!" Contrary to Harry's expectations, Sirius' face was pale and frightened. "Why are you out here?"

"Snape wouldn't let you in! He is in there right now, arguing with Professor Lupin," Harry tried to explain, quickly becoming frightened himself.

"Come on, we have to get you back inside," Sirius grabbed him much the same way Snape had, and began pulling him towards the castle. He didn't need to have the hidden crevice pointed out to him; as one of the creators of the Marauder's Map he knew every passageway out of Hogwarts.

"Go on," Sirius gave him a push. "I'll be right behind you."

But just then a bright light exploded to their right.

"Go!" Sirius shoved Harry forcefully into the crevice, simultaneously whipping out his wand.

Harry staggered down the narrow tunnel, afraid to look behind him and terrified for his godfather. He stumbled out from behind the stone gryphon and ran through the empty Hogwarts corridors. He ran across the entrance hall, his feet slapping the marble floor, causing shrill echoes.

In the entrance to the staffroom he ran straight into Lupin. Snape was right behind him. Both men looked pale and rattled.

"Harry!" Lupin grabbed him by the shoulders. "What have you done?"

"Someone . . ." Harry began, but at that moment he felt the Marauder's Map being wrenched from his grasp.

Snape was staring at the piece of parchment with alarm. Harry knew he had not wiped it clean after his escape from the castle. But Snape was already familiar with the Map, he had seen it once before, so why . . .?

"Look," Snape shoved the map toward Lupin. Their eyes met over the parchment.

"Harry, return to your room, quickly," Lupin instructed. "Lock the door behind you, do not open it for anyone. We will come for you."

Harry nodded mutely, turned, and hurried toward the staircase leading down to the dungeons.

Snape and Lupin ran from the staffroom, wands out. They had no trouble finding the correct room, as Lupin knew where the passage was, and they waited, eyes locked on the stone gryphon. Should it move, they were prepared to blast it. Snape glanced at the Map once more.

"Now, Lupin!"

The gryphon exploded, along with a good portion of the wall. What was left collapsed, burying the tunnel under the rubble.

Snape pointed again to the Map, "I am the only one who can close the rift."

Lupin acknowledged him with a quick nod, and Snape hurried from the room. Several minutes later Lupin could hear explosions from afar.

Then the rubble at his feet began to vibrate, small stones skipping on the marble floor. Lupin readied his wand.

Snape reappeared, his robes covered in gray dust. From the look on his face Lupin knew that he had been unsuccessful. The shields around Hogwarts were falling.

Both men looked at the Map, where a crowd of moving dots was amassing in one corner. Their eyes met in wordless understanding.

"Go," Lupin said. "I will hold them off as long as I can. Albus is on his way with reinforcements."

Snape hesitated, knowing full well that reinforcements were unlikely to get there fast enough, but then he turned from Lupin.

Snape was already halfway across the room when the remnants of the wall exploded, sending shards of stone into the room. As the fragments showered them both, Snape whirled around, in time to see Lupin hit and thrown against the wall. He had blocked most of the spell, but barely.

Snape may have returned to Lupin's side, but Lupin waved him off.

"Go!"

Snape ran from the room.

Just down the hallway he was intercepted by a figure in dark robes. Not hesitating, he blasted it out of the way, taking out a section of the wall in the process.

The Map helped him navigate, to know what to expect around corners.

He made it to the Great Hall just as the something heavy hit the castle door, and into the stairwell behind the staff table just as it was blown apart.

He hit the panel with a strengthening charm before going down, knowing it would not hold but hoping that it would hold long enough.

He ran through the corridors, and as he rounded the final corner his one fervent hope was that the foolish boy had followed instructions for once in his miserable life.

His heart thudded in his chest as he pulled open the door.

Harry sat on the bed, all color drained from his face. Even here, far below the rest of the school, he had heard the explosions. The hardest of all was the waiting, the not knowing. He believed Sirius to be dead. And now, not seeing Lupin with Snape, he believed the same about him.

Snape wasted no time. As he ran, he had thought out what he must do. He threw open Harry's trunk and found his invisibility cloak. Pulling Harry off the bed, he threw it around both of them.

"Don't make a sound," he warned. Unnecessarily, as Harry was temporarily mute.

They had just made it from the room when a shaft of light penetrated the gloom of the dungeon corridor, then a tall shadow fell upon one wall. The path out of the dungeons was blocked.

Snape's fingers dug painfully into Harry's shoulder as they walked through the maze of passageways. Footsteps were now following behind them, moving faster than they were, and Harry was afraid to look back.

Finally they entered a room, a classroom that had long been abandoned, by the looks of it. Snape barred the door before illuminating the room. He threw off the cloak and seemed to look wildly around for a moment. Harry was terrified to think that there may not be a plan, that they were both trapped in this desolate room, which seemed to offer little protection.

There was a trunk in one corner, and Snape rummaged through it. He turned to Harry, holding out a small glass bottle, topped with a cork. It rattled slightly and Harry realized that Snape's hand was shaking.

"As a last resort, open this and take the stone," he shoved the bottle toward Harry and Harry saw that the object contained in the bottle was a rune. "It's a portkey."

Harry took the bottle.

"Remember," Snape warned, "a last resort."

Harry was about to nod, when a thud at the door made them both jump. Time had run out.

Snape moved to the wall and pressed hard on the stone surface. For a few moments nothing happened, then, much like the brick wall that revealed the entrance to Diagon Alley, the stones disjoined and moved apart.

Snape pushed Harry through the opening, stepped through himself, then turned to close it. Harry's ears rang as the door exploded, and he watched in horror as the stone wall began to close — much too slowly — even as hooded figures rushed into the room. Wands were pointed in their direction. He saw a flash of blinding green light, the same as he often saw in his nightmares, but the wall seemed to close a split second before the wave of light reached the opening.

Then, a blast took Harry off his feet and threw him headlong down the corridor.

He landed on his back. It was pitch black, the light from Snape's wand had gone out.

Where was Snape? Harry got up, and tripped over the rubble. Someone grabbed him and held him up, and Harry cried out, trying to twist away. The hand that had touched his bare forearm was wet and clammy.

"Quiet!" came a command through the darkness. Harry had never been so glad to hear Snape's voice.

A dim light appeared around them as Snape pulled him along the corridor. Turning to look behind them, Harry saw that one end of the corridor was buried under massive piles of stone.

For what seemed like hours they walked down the winding tunnel, the ceiling sometimes coming down so low that Snape had to bend down to avoid hitting his head.

The shock was wearing off, and Harry had to fight his emotions. He had seen Hogwarts attacked, two people he cared about were most likely dead, and Harry himself was the cause of it.

They had to stop to rest, and for the first time Harry noticed that Snape's left arm was bloodied from shoulder to hand, his robes torn in numerous places. Harry recalled that Snape had stood between himself and the wall as it was blasted apart.

Snape's thoughts were racing. The situation at Hogwarts had been beyond anything he had prepared himself for. There hadn't been a few Death Eaters. There had been dozens. More than he knew to be walking free, unless . . . Unless Azkaban had been liberated. If that were the case, and he had to assume that it was, where could he turn? If Voldemort's supporters had overrun Hogwarts, thought to be one of the most secure sites in the country, how likely was it that there were simply no safe havens left?

Beside him, Harry Potter was slumped against the wall. Snape looked him over, finding him basically unhurt. The terror had left his face, but something else had replaced it, a numbness or detachment that Snape knew could not be allowed when sharp reflexes were needed.

"Potter!" he barked, but softened his tone when Harry startled and he realized how rough his voice had been. "I need you awake. Pay attention. There's no time to explain everything, but I will tell you this . . ." Snape paused for breath, and to collect his thoughts. "The plan has always been to get to Hogsmeade. That's where we are going now. If everything goes right, Dumbledore will meet us there."

If he is even still alive, Harry thought, feeling that if Hogwarts had been breached, Dumbledore must be gone, or he would never have allowed harm to come to Harry there.

To Snape, he simply nodded. 


	7. Chapter 6

They reached Hogsmeade in the dead of night. They met no one as they walked through the village.

Snape ushered Harry into what looked like a decrepit shack, but which on the inside turned out to have all the comforts of home.

They didn't speak as they changed into clean robes, found in a cupboard, and Snape did his best to heal their scrapes and bruises. There was food in the cabinets, but Harry was not hungry and Snape didn't feel up to arguing. Finally, Harry fell asleep on the only bed.

He found himself trapped in a nightmare, in which hooded figures chased him all over Hogwarts. They looked like Death Eaters at first, then Dementors, and finally each wore Voldemort's face.

Harry woke to find Snape standing over him, holding down his shoulders.

"Quiet!" he commanded in a hoarse whisper. "Quiet."

"Voldemort . . ." Harry panted as he tried to catch his breath.

"There's nothing," Snape released him and sank tiredly onto the edge of the bed. "No disturbance in the village."

Harry had one gruesome thought: Perhaps the inhabitants were all lying dead in their homes. He shook his head to clear the image.

Snape shoved the Marauders Map toward Harry. The parchment was blank.

"Does it work outside school grounds?"

Harry couldn't recall. He tried to activate the map, but nothing happened. Either it didn't work away from Hogwarts, or it had been damaged, or . . .

Or there was no longer anything to show.

Harry slumped down in bed. He was still exhausted after his fitful sleep, and there was an ache in his chest that he couldn't ignore. If there was anyone left, wouldn't they come? Dumbledore, Lupin, Sirius — were they all dead?

Snape was studying him. There was none of the usual sneer on his thin face, only exhaustion and sadness. For a split second his weary face reminded Harry of the first time he saw Sirius, a short time after his godfather had escaped from Azkaban. Like Sirius, Snape looked weighed down by grim thoughts and worry.

They had loathed each other for four years, ever since Harry arrived at Hogwarts, but now Harry felt instinctively that whatever dislike Snape had felt all this time, he had always been ready to protect Harry at any personal cost. All the times he had thought that Snape might still be loyal to Voldemort haunted Harry now.

Outside, the sun was rising. Snape went to the window and looked out. In the pale dawn light he saw the village beginning to stir, evidence of normal life returning. Here, it looked as if nothing had happened, and yet only a short distance away he knew lay a scene of carnage.

Had Lupin survived? And Black? Did help arrive in time? Snape's grudge did not run so deep that he wished either man dead. And the loss would likely destroy. . . He glanced over his shoulder at Harry Potter, who lay unmoving and pale on the bed.

All that responsibility, on one boy's shoulders.

It was laughable, Snape thought, that this boy was expected to fight Voldemort. _Would_ have been laughable, he amended, if the situation were not so grave.

And they expected him to be like James Potter! Snape felt a surge of burning anger. The boy expected it of himself!

Granted, James Potter had been a brave man. Brave; but rash, and blinded by his emotions. They had idealized him to the point that he had lost all semblance of humanity. James Potter had not been perfect; he had not been a saint. A hero? Maybe. But hardly a saint. They wanted the boy to emulate him? Well, he would! To live up to their expectations he would face Voldemort — and meet the same fate.

They are all convinced the boy looks like James Potter, Snape thought bitterly. He knew better. They saw only what they wanted to see. The dark hair, the glasses. . . The blasted glasses! Just because Potter - both of them, he added grimly - was too daft to correct his vision with a simple spell even a squib could manage! It was maddening.

He fought to control the fury washing over him.

No, he corrected himself. Not maddening. Always before, he had thought it was convenient. And if the ever-present specter of James Potter gave the boy strength, then it was also necessary.

But the boy wouldn't live up to James Potter's image. He couldn't, when . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock. On the bed, Harry sat up abruptly. Snape motioned for him to stay where he was.

Death Eaters didn't generally knock, but Snape held his wand ready as he opened the door.

Harry craned his neck to see around Snape. Sunlight streamed into the room, and all Harry could see was the outline of the man standing in the doorway. But that was enough.

"Sirius!" he jumped from the bed, and nearly knocking Snape out of the way, rushed into his godfather's arms.

Snape was looking so aggravated that Sirius rushed to explain.

"Albus sent me. The ministry was at Hogwarts in full force, but he wouldn't reveal your location," he said over Harry's head. "You are to return immediately to the school."

Snape nodded, and began to collect their few belongings.

Sirius looked down at Harry's pale face.

"You don't know how worried I was," he said softly.

"I thought you were dead," Harry whispered. "You and Professor Lupin."

He saw Sirius' face twitch and his breath caught.

"Professor Lupin . . . is he . . ." Harry couldn't finish.

"No," Sirius sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, "only injured."

"Badly?"

Sirius met Harry's eyes.

"Yes," but seeing Harry's face fall he added, "but not fatally."

He tried to change the subject. "Ready?" he asked Snape, who had in fact been waiting for an opportunity to interrupt the conversation to ask the same thing.

They left Hogsmeade and began the long walk back to Hogwarts. 


	8. Chapter 7

There were no Ministry officials at Hogwarts. Whatever had taken place there that morning, it was over, and all was still.

They had to step carefully, as the ground was littered with rubble. One wall was almost entirely destroyed, and the front door was missing, but the debris had been cleared away from the castle.

As they walked inside, Professor Dumbledore rushed to meet them. He wasn't satisfied until Harry had repeated twice that he was indeed still in one piece.

Harry would never know what a night Dumbledore had spent. To receive word in the dead of night that Hogwarts was under attack; to rush to the school only to find Harry and Severus missing!

He had found Sirius unhurt, but Sirius had never made it inside the school and had no way of knowing what had become of Harry. They had found Remus together, but he was unconscious and unable to tell them anything. Dumbledore had paced the floor in the hospital wing until Remus had regained consciousness, but Remus too could not tell him what he needed to know.

For many hours Dumbledore had struggled with agonizing thoughts. His trust in Severus Snape was sorely tested. Human nature was unpredictable; not even Dumbledore could peer into the heart of a man and know with certainty what path he would take. Dumbledore was not infallible. Many years ago, he had harbored a secret misgiving about Harry's mother. And he had been in terrible error. In the end Lily Potter had died for her child rather than stand aside and thus save her own life. Dumbledore was even now pained by the memory of his lapse. No, he could not fool himself; there was no way to know for sure, not until he saw Harry safe at Hogwarts again.

He heard their story, and found Snape's side woefully lacking in details. Harry had been too confused during their retreat from the castle to know anything of value. He took them to the hospital wing where Lupin was recovering under the care of Madam Pomfrey. Though he was no longer bed-bound, he walked with a pronounced limp and one eye was bandaged.

Harry almost cried at the sight of Lupin's injuries. He could not forget that it had been his own foolishness that had allowed the Death Eaters to gain entry into Hogwarts.

"Poppy," Dumbledore addressed the nurse, "would you be so kind as to put Harry to bed? He looks exhausted. The rest of us should meet in the staffroom." Then he looked closer at the tired faces around him. "But first let us have tea."

He regarded Lupin, "Remus . . ."

"I'm fine, Albus," Lupin interrupted. "I will join you."

"Very well. To the Great Hall."

Dumbledore led the way and the staff fell into step behind him, leaving Harry and Madam Pomfrey alone in the infirmary.

Harry was content to allow Madam Pomfrey to fuss over him. Knowing that Harry's sleep would be comfortless otherwise, the nurse gave him a draught to place him in a dreamless sleep.

He awoke hours later, not understanding at first what had pulled him out of sleep. It had not been a nightmare.

_His scar!_

His forehead felt as though on fire — his entire head threatened to split open.

Voldemort was close.

Harry looked wildly around, but the infirmary was empty. The nurse was nowhere in sight.

Harry contemplated yelling for help, surely that would bring someone running.

Finally he eased himself out of bed and began to walk slowly toward the door. The marble floor made walking silently impossible, Harry cringed as the empty room filled with the echoes of his footsteps.

His own footsteps, or someone else's? Harry stopped. The footsteps did not.

He turned.

His first sight of Voldemort was obscured by a flash of sparks. He was caught in a vice-like grip, his arms pinned to his sides. Behind him, the infirmary door shut silently, cutting Harry off from the rest of the school.

He was alone with Voldemort, and the only part of his body that was free to move were his eyes.

Voldemort approached, and the pain in Harry's forehead intensified.

"_Crucio_," hissed Voldemort, and Harry twisted in agony, unable to make a sound through his binds.

In the staffroom, Dumbledore had once again called a meeting. Although they had only been able to devote a few hours to sleep, and Dumbledore had taken none himself, they were intent on catching up on what each of them had missed.

Suddenly, Snape, who had been leaning back in his chair studying a Ministry report, sat bold upright.

In horror and disbelief he rolled up his sleeve and saw the Dark Mark growing more vivid with each second that passed.

"Albus!" he cried hoarsely, as everyone abandoned their chairs and crowded around him.

He would have felt pain, but there was only room in his mind for one single thought.

They had to get to the hospital wing. 


	9. Chapter 8

Harry lay on the cold floor, trying to catch his breath.

Voldemort had released him after several minutes of torture, and now circled him slowly, leering.

Out of Voldemort's sight of vision, Harry's wand was already in his hand. What he might do with it, he didn't know. He was no match for Voldemort, and he knew it. Whatever spells he had learned, what match were they for the Unforgiveables? Voldemort could finish him any time he chose.

But Voldemort was in no hurry. This boy, who had escaped him so many times, would suffer before he died.

"Get up . . . or do you wish to die cowering?" he mocked.

Harry rose. If Voldemort wanted to duel, Harry was prepared. He didn't believe he could win, his only thought was that he must face the end bravely.

Voldemort attacked.

Harry had a split second to react, but the many hours he had spent practicing paid off. It was a curse he was familiar with, and he blocked it.

Again, Voldemort raised his wand. Harry knew there was no reason why the next one should not be the Killing Curse. There was no way to block it. There was no countercurse.

Another familiar one. Harry blocked it.

So it went, Voldemort attacking, Harry blocking or dodging out of the way. They moved in a slow circle around the spacious room. How soon before Voldemort tired of this dance?

"They've taught you well," Voldemort's snake-like mouth spread into a thin, ugly smile, "but what is the use, boy? You have nothing left in you." His smile became wider still. "I know your secret now."

"And what's that?" Harry demanded. Voldemort liked the sound of his own voice too much. Why not just get on with it?

"For so many years I wondered what had defeated me. Surely not a Mudblood's affection for her child. I realized — the clever witch — she used the Dark Magic I taught her against me."

Harry felt the heat rise to his face. This was too much.

"How . . . dare . . . you . . . talk about my mother! Murderer! She wouldn't get out of your way! You think I would believe anything you say?"

"Foolish boy!" Voldemort's smile grew impossibly wide across his skeletal face. "The product of Mudbloods and Muggles, what do you know about the truth?"

"I know my mother died for me!"

"Yes," Voldemort's voice was a soft hiss, "she did. And now you will join her. But first . . ." he raised his wand, "_Crucio_."

The curse hit Harry's shield, erected just in time, shaking it to the core. He couldn't hold it, he felt it growing weaker under the tremendous strain. A few seconds more and it would disintegrate into wisps of blue fog. He concentrated on holding on to his shaking wand. His head filled with a roar, blood throbbing in his temples.

Voldemort lowered his wand.

"Very good," his eyes had a cruel spark, "but surely you know that not every curse can be blocked."

In slow motion, Harry saw Voldemort's wand rise. Suddenly his head cleared. There was a strength coming from within him that he had never felt before. He was seconds from death, but he knew now that he would face it the way his father had. He would fight with every power that was at his disposal, however futile the effort was, because to stand and wait for Voldemort to strike him down was to accept that Voldemort was undefeatable.

Someday, Harry thought fervently, Voldemort would be defeated.

"_Avada_ . . ." — both Voldemort and Harry at the same time.

"_Expelliarmus!_" — voices in unison, at the same time as the infirmary door shattered.

"_Kedavra!_" — Harry alone.

He was hit. His heart pounded hard and fast, as if being torn out of his chest. His head reeled and pain overwhelmed his mind and body. The floor lurched to meet him as he fell.

Beside Voldemort's dead body, Harry Potter lay pale and unmoving on the cold stone. 


	10. Chapter 9

They stood in deathly silent infirmary, afraid to break the stillness.

His chest rose weakly.

As if a body-binding spell had been broken, they rushed forward.

Snape was first to reach him, but stood over him helplessly. It was Sirius who carried Harry to a bed, and lay him down as gently as possible.

"Where is the nurse!" Lupin looked around, his eyes darting to the dimly lit corner of the room.

Madam Pomfrey lay in a crumpled heap behind a medicine cabinet. There was no need to check; she was lifeless.

Dumbledore seemed to regain use of his faculties first.

"Carry him to Severus' office," he told Sirius, and led the way himself.

They went in silence, each struggling to regain control. What could any of them say? It was over, and yet, the worst could be yet to come.

Finally, Harry was laid down on a bed Dumbledore had conjured up in Snape's office. They looked down at his motionless form, searching for reassurance that he still lived.

"Severus, quickly, prepare the potion," Dumbledore took his eyes off Harry for a second and looked at Snape.

Snape's pupils were dilated, he had a wild, out-of-control look.

"Quickly!" Dumbledore repeated, reaching out to touch Snape's shoulder.

Snape jerked at the touch, coming out of the stupor. He began to rummage through the cabinets.

"What potion?" Sirius caught Dumbledore's arm. Was there hope? Harry had been hit with only a rebound of the intended spell, perhaps that made some difference.

"A restorative. Very powerful." Dumbledore wiped his brow. "Severus?"

"Set a cauldron to boil," Snape threw over his shoulder. "One quart water."

"You did put it where you could find it . . .?" Lupin demanded as he watched Snape move from one cabinet to the next.

Snape waved him off. Of course he had put it where he could find it. When did Snape ever misplace potions ingredients? In truth, he wasn't seeing anything in front of him. He was stalling for time. But his thoughts raced in a circle, and no answers came. He felt Dumbledore's eyes on him. Time had run out.

There. In the last cabinet, by the wall. A small leather flask that Dumbledore had entrusted to him many years ago. His heart gave a painful thud at the sight of it.

He turned around, the container in his hand. Dumbledore seemed to sigh with relief, not seeing how all the remaining color had drained out of Snape's face.

They watched as Snape prepared the potion. It was simple in design, containing only a few common plant oils, diced fireweed root, and a pinch of ground up Unicorn horn. It took only a few minutes to mix, and the potion was set to cool. There was only one more ingredient, to be added last, just before the potion was ingested.

"What is it?" Sirius was watching the potion swirl, turning from orange to light blue as it cooled.

"Priores Cruor," Dumbledore explained. "If you are hovering between life and death, it is often the only thing that will save you. It restores life energy."

"It's nothing I ever heard of," Lupin murmured, almost to himself.

"No." Dumbledore paused for a long time before continuing. "It is not commonly used. The most vital part is rarely available. It is blood. Blood of the father. We were fortunate to have been able to preserve a small amount of James' blood."

Dumbledore saw that the potion had cooled sufficiently, and poured it into a goblet.

Snape made a barely audible choking sound as Dumbledore poured pale red powder from the flask into the goblet. The potion turned dark violet and foamed.

Lupin and Sirius leaned forward as Dumbledore placed a hand under Harry's limp neck and raised his head. He parted Harry's lips with the goblet's rim, and began to tip it upward.

"Stop," behind him, Snape could watch no longer. "Stop. It will not work."

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at him.

He stood at the foot of the bed, apart from them, looking down at the boy. He raised his eyes to meet theirs.

"The potion will not work," he repeated.

The silence that followed his words was deafening. Dumbledore looked down at the goblet in his hand. It looked right. The perfect consistency, the right color. And yet he was saying . . .

"I don't understand, Severus," he finally said softly. "Is something wrong with the potion?"

Snape drew in a breath. How could he explain?

"Not the potion," he began slowly, "the blood. James Potter's blood will . . ."

Before he could continue, Sirius bent down over Harry, listening in panic for a heartbeat. It was still there, but so slow and so weak that he knew the boy would not live more than a few minutes longer. He turned on Snape.

"It's your potion! What's wrong with it? He's dying, and you stand there telling us not to give him the one thing that might save him?"

"Time is running out, Severus," Dumbledore's usually rational voice was losing its steadiness.

Snape didn't answer them. Moving as if in a dream, he poured the remaining potion into another goblet. He approached the bed, his eyes intent on the boy's face.

In his left hand, Snape held the small knife he had used to slice the fireweed roots. Numb to the pain, he squeezed his fist around the sharp blade.

Blood poured down his fingers, the ruby droplets falling into the goblet, where the potion sizzled and foamed, and after a moment turned violet.

His hand shook, but he managed to get the goblet up to the boy's mouth. Tipped it, and watched the potion flow down his throat.

The goblet was empty. The bloody knife had fallen to the floor.

They leaned close, waiting, watching, hardly allowing themselves to breathe. There was no change, nothing to give them a sign.

Suddenly Harry drew a strong breath. Some color began to come back into his bluish lips and ashen face. Blood, rushing faster through him, made the veins on his neck pulse.

Dumbledore, Lupin, and Sirius looked up just as Snape deserted the room, his billowing robes swishing around the corner after him. 


	11. Chapter 10

Two days later, as Dumbledore was about to pour tea for Sirius and Lupin, Snape walked through the staffroom door. The expression on his face was unreadable.

Since the night of Voldemort's death, Snape had stayed in seclusion. He had gone up to the North Tower, aware that he alone knew that Professor Trelawney had fled Hogwarts many days earlier. In the circular room, surrounded by crystal balls and other articles of Divination, both the past and the future had haunted him.

He wasn't ready to face them, but he knew that sooner or later they would come for him. He preferred to get the inescapable over with on his own terms.

He sat down in his usual chair, but refused to meet their eyes.

After a moment of painful silence, Dumbledore launched into a summary of the Ministry's efforts to round up the remaining Death Eaters. When he finished, instead of an animated discussion there was another silence.

It seemed to Snape that they were avoiding looking at him, except for Dumbledore, who studied him as one would study a bug under a magnifying glass.

They had spent an uncomfortable two days. So many questions ran through their minds, but none dared to voice them to the others. It was as if saying it would make it unbearably real.

Someone had to speak, or they might sit there until the sun set.

"I believe you owe us an explanation, Severus," Dumbledore said softly.

"Do I?" Snape snarled, too quickly, as if he had anticipated that very question. "Frankly I don't see whose business it is, other than my own."

"And what about Harry?"

"What about him?" Snape demanded. "There's no reason why it should concern him. He has what he wants — parents who had lived exemplary lives and left impeccable memories."

Outside, Harry's ears pricked up and he leaned closer to the door. He had been allowed out of bed that morning for the first time, but Dumbledore had refused to let him read the Ministry reports that had arrived by owl that afternoon. Harry felt that he had a right to know what was going on outside of Hogwarts. Voldemort was dead, he knew that much, but Harry felt as if he had a large gap in his brain. Now here they were, sitting in the staffroom, talking about him behind his back! Talking about his parents, the subject Harry was most sensitive about. Why did he always feel that everyone knew more about his parents than he did? It was nothing short of unjust.

"You intend to let him live the rest of his life based on a lie?" Harry heard Lupin ask.

"I intend to let him live in peace!" Snape pounded the table with his fist, his anger getting the better of him. "I intend to let all of us live in peace! Let the dead stay dead."

"Is your concern for the dead, or yourself?"

"What difference?" Snape muttered. Out loud, he said, "My concern is for all involved. I will not speak ill of the dead; the heroes of the Wizarding World. There is no one who will benefit from the truth. I choose to let it rest."

Harry swallowed a bitter lump.

Not speak ill of the dead? How many times had Snape done exactly that? For four years it had been one of his favorite ways to antagonize Harry.

What was the truth about his parents, something even Dumbledore did not know but Snape did? And he wouldn't tell! What right did Snape have to conceal the truth?

He couldn't listen anymore. Pulling himself up, Harry stole silently away from the staffroom door.

Shortly thereafter, in the hall outside the staffroom, Dumbledore caught up with Snape.

"Severus, a word please," he motioned for Snape to follow him, away from where their conversation might be overheard.

"Please," Dumbledore held up his hand as he saw that Snape was about to protest. "I only ask that you listen."

Snape nodded wordlessly.

"I don't understand," Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I don't understand, but I accept. The truth will remain hidden, per your wishes."

He stopped, Snape thought he was finished.

But Dumbledore continued, more gently, "But if you want him, Severus . . ." Dumbledore's eyes searched Snape's, "I believe it can be arranged."

"What do you mean?" Snape frowned, not understanding.

"If you had kept up with current events, rather than hiding out in the North Tower," Dumbledore smiled weakly at Snape's stunned expression, "then you would know the chaos the world is in right now. Harry will need a guardian. Someone we can trust explicitly. I had intended it to be myself, but there is no reason why it can't be you. Simply continue doing what you did this summer."

He saw that Snape was about to refuse, and hurried to add, "Think about it Severus, and feel free to let me know your decision at any time."

Then, not allowing Snape to make his decision known, Dumbledore left him standing in the middle of the hallway.

Below them, Harry was stalking down the dungeon corridor.

He intended to collect his things from Snape's room. In his fury, Harry was exaggeratedly irritated by the thought of his trunk being there. Furthermore, he intended to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map while Snape was out. Why take the chance that Snape would decide to keep them?

He was passing the last of the Potions classrooms when he was grabbed from behind and dragged inside the pitch black room.

Over his mouth pressed something cold, metallic. Around him he could just make out the outlines of desks and chairs. He was being dragged backwards toward the farthest corner.

Harry struggled to free himself, but couldn't. He was still weak from the ordeal of two nights ago.

On the first floor, Sirius came out of the infirmary and frowned to see Lupin and Dumbledore coming toward him.

"Harry's not with you?"

"No, I haven't seen him since this morning," Lupin exchanged a glance with Dumbledore, who also shook his head.

"He isn't with . . ."

"No," Snape's icy voice interrupted from behind him.

They exchanged a worried look.

"He wouldn't go wandering off," Sirius said uncertainly.

"Of course he would," Snape sneered. "The arrogant brat probably thinks he can take on every Dark Wizard in the country now."

But even Snape didn't believe it.

They split up, searching the rooms on the first and ground floors.

As he looked into the empty staffroom, Snape suddenly remembered that he still had in his pocket the Marauder's Map. Quickly he took it out, and watched a map of the school appear. Then moving dots, one each for himself, Dumbledore, Lupin, and Black, appeared on the parchment. Down in the dungeons another dot, a large one, moved erratically, its label indecipherable. Snape looked closer, his nose almost touching the paper.

The next moment he was running toward the dungeons staircase, in his haste not thinking to alert the others.

Harry had finally broken away from the man who held him. It had been a matter of conserving his energy and letting his captor tire out from dragging his full weight. As soon as he was free, he darted away. He couldn't go very far, for fear of making his predicament worse by tripping over a desk in the darkness.

Unable to see, he quickly became disoriented. Where was his attacker? When had the door been shut, cutting off whatever dim light could have come from the torch-lit corridor?

"_Lumos,_" he whispered, and the tip of his wand lit up.

Looking straight at him from only a few meters away was Peter Pettigrew.

As soon as Wormtail saw Harry he raised his wand, a curse ready to leave his lips.

From the other side of the wand, Harry had not been blinded by the sudden light. In those few moments, he had time to prepare. When Wormtail's hex came at him, he was able to deflect it.

The same situation again, the same slow circling dance, Harry thought dully.

"Pettigrew!" Snape's angry voice called out from the doorway. Harry hadn't seen the door open, his eyes intent on Wormtail.

Clearly, Wormtail was also unprepared for the interruption.

The past few day had been a sort of hell for him. His Master was dead. The Death Eaters had turned on him, knowing him to be weak. He had come to Hogwarts in one final, desperate attempt to prove himself by avenging the Dark Lord.

Now, seeing Snape, he panicked. Only one thing came to mind.

Harry and Snape both saw at the same time what was about to happen. Their eyes met and locked across the room; Snape in the doorway, Harry pressed against the back wall. Snape saw that there was nowhere for Harry to go to escape the blast; something that Harry understood just a few moments earlier.

There was no time to speak, no time for any kind of signal. As Wormtail's wand swung down, Harry pried the cork from the small bottle Snape had given to him during the attack on Hogwarts. It had lain in the pocket of his robes since, and now, in the most desperate moment, he had heard Snape's words clearly inside his mind: _Remember . . . a last resort._

Harry felt rather than saw the explosion. Shrapnel flew in all directions. Under his feet a fathomless chasm opened, and he was falling down into the blackness. As he spun around and around, Harry's weakened physical state acted against him. Long before he would have hit the bottom, Harry lost consciousness. 


	12. Chapter 11

Feet pounded down the dungeon stairs, and moments later Dumbledore and Sirius appeared in the corridor. Lupin was a little slower, his injured leg still bothering him, but caught up with them at the doorway.

They found Snape leaning against the wall, his eyes staring straight ahead into the room.

The spacious dungeon classroom had no floor. The ragged edge of the pit ran a near perfect circle, leaving only a ribbon of crumbling stone close to each wall.

They assumed the worst.

"Severus?" Dumbledore tried to pull him away from the edge, but Snape wouldn't be moved.

"There's no chance . . .?" Dumbledore looked into the gutted room and his voice trailed off.

"The boy?" Snape didn't look up. "No, he's fine. He had a portkey with him — my backup plan during the attack."

He could sense them exchanging a look behind his back. If Harry was alive, then why . . .

"Why are we standing here!" Sirius exclaimed agitatedly when Snape didn't continue. "What was the destination?"

"Hagrid's hut," Snape told him, and Sirius bound up the stairs almost before the words were spoken.

Lupin followed. Dumbledore tried to pull Snape along, but Snape resisted.

"I'll be right behind you," he promised.

Dumbledore didn't like leaving him. Snape was standing so still, his eyes seemed glazed as he stared into the abyss. But finally, with one final look back, he followed Sirius and Lupin up the staircase.

As soon as Dumbledore was gone, Snape seemed to come back to life.

He knew he had frightened them, standing there like that, but that couldn't be helped.

Snape hadn't been stunned. He wasn't numb from the shock of seeing Harry Potter's demise, as the others had assumed at first. He stared into the pit for one reason only.

He didn't want to take his eyes off the rat.

He pulled out his wand. He stunned Wormtail first, then, with Wormtail dangling in the air, he bound him with the strongest spell he knew. He pulled the rat forward, until he could finally wrap his fist around the skinny rodent body. Carrying the rat to his office, Snape placed Wormtail into a secure container, sealed it and made it unbreakable, and stowed it away in a cabinet.

Harry had already been found by the time Snape arrived at Hagrid's hut. Sirius was carrying him, since following his rough landing on top of Hagrid's hard bed Harry was feeling disoriented and bruised.

"Have we learned our lesson yet?" Snape asked sourly. "We should bind him to one of us."

"An excellent idea, Severus," Dumbledore turned it around on him, "would you prefer to take first watch?"

Snape said nothing, but looked as if he'd been fed a lime.

Soon Harry was safely in an infirmary bed, with Sirius watching vigilantly, and the Marauder's Map pinned to the wall above the headboard. Snape stalked the hallway outside the room, not trusting Sirius to have any control over a boy who insisted on being nearly killed at every turn.

Spoiled! Utterly spoiled! That's all it was, Snape thought. They had spoiled him and now look where it got them. No sense of reason, no common sense at all. Arrogant! Foolish! No regard for rules, however for his own good they are. I pity the one who has to raise _that_, he finished resolutely. No doubt about it . . .

Dumbledore approached from the side, Snape saw him too late to avoid him.

"Will you join us for a late dinner, Severus?"

"No thank you, Albus," Snape shook his head, hoping Dumbledore would take the hint. "I'm exhausted, I was thinking I would lie down for a while. Do call me if anything else happens," he couldn't help adding the last, voice dripping in sarcasm.

"Really, Severus, you must eat something," Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard Snape's last comment.

He just doesn't know when to quit, Snape thought bitterly.

"What a day we've had," Dumbledore chuckled, though his voice was more weary than mirthful. "And I haven't even thought to ask you who that was, down in the dungeon."

Snape frowned slightly. He wasn't ready to explain that bit. Things were complicated enough for the moment.

But Dumbledore had already forged ahead, into even more dangerous territory.

"Have you given any more thought to my little proposition?" Dumbledore peered at him over his spectacles.

The man was relentless. When did he suppose Snape had time to think about it — between running madly through the castle and almost being blown up by Pettigrew?

He thought again of how little control anyone had over the boy. He already ran wild, disregarding all rules and sensibilities. With Dumbledore or Sirius as his guardian, he'd likely be killed within a week.

Was everyone incompetent? Snape wondered. Did they not see where they were going wrong?

He refused to believe that he had made up his mind hours ago, in the dungeons, just as the boy's eyes had locked with his across the expanse of the room.

No, it was only about the best man for the job.

He would take the boy. It was about time that someone took charge, someone who wasn't blinded by the ridiculous pretenses he put on.

If Dumbledore knew what lay on a cabinet shelf down below, in Snape's office, surely he would change his mind about this crazy scheme. But Dumbledore wouldn't know until the necessary papers were signed. He'd make up some reason to make them binding magical contracts, and that would settle _that_. Then, and only then, would an anonymous package be delivered to the Ministry. Let Black be free! It would make no difference. Armed with a legal right, Snape would make sure that the man's dubious influences over the boy would be in check from now on.

Thus, not believing that he had any other motive, he said, "I have thought it over, Albus, and I believe that I . . ."

"Good evening Professors!" a voice startled them from behind. Both whirled around.

Two Ministry officials approached, with Lupin right behind them. As he stepped forward to shake hands with the men, Dumbledore looked pointedly at infirmary door, behind which Harry and Sirius were unaware of the Ministry presence at Hogwarts.

Snape caught the look.

"Good evening," he held out his hand reluctantly. How inconvenient it would be, having Black captured before all was settled. "What brings you here tonight?"

"Official business. The Ministry has called a meeting, and Professor Dumbledore is needed," one of the officials said. "As well as searching the school once more. Ministry orders."

"Search the school? Very well. I believe the logical place to start would be from the bottom. Shall I show you the way?" Snape attempted to steer them away from the infirmary.

"No," the man waved his hand toward the closed door. "Why not start right here. This is, I believe, where . . . _You-Know-Who_ . . . was felled?"

"Yes," Snape answered reluctantly. He had done all he could to stall them, if Black was too dim to make use of the window, that certainly was not Snape's fault. Ministry orders, indeed! Two star-struck halfwits, more likely.

Sirius was gone. So was Harry. Snape could barely control his anger. That blasted fool! Wasn't it enough he was always hanging about, standing in the way of any rightful discipline that might be administered? Did he have to also drag the boy from the safety of the school? Snape glared at the open window, lacking any other target. Wait. Just wait. He would speak to Dumbledore as soon as he returned from the Ministry, and settle this.

Hours later, Snape entered the Great Hall and scowled to see Harry, Sirius, and Lupin having a late supper. They were discussing something animatedly, until they saw Snape in the doorway.

"Severus," Lupin waved him over, "won't you join us?"

Conversation was a casualty of the invitation. They ate in near silence until Dumbledore arrived back at Hogwarts and joined them.

"I'm afraid I can't stay long," Dumbledore helped himself to a piece of pie, "the Ministry needs all the help available."

He looked around the table. Harry, Sirius, and Lupin were sitting on one side. Snape sat on the other side, about as far as he could get from them without leaving the table. He sighed. Snape by himself was predictable, and therefore could be handled. Add Sirius and Lupin, and things seemed to go sour quickly. The chasm between them seemed too vast to bridge.

Look at them, he thought, hanging on to their old grudges when they should have been brought together by their common needs. Each of them, having gone through crushing loss, sacrifice, and alienation, and yet each of them obstinately refusing to acknowledge their shared experience.

Worse, Dumbledore thought as he looked at Harry, they would allow their loathing of each other to tear apart the person who could have brought them together.

There was one thing Dumbledore realized as he looked at the scene in front of him. If Snape was to have any chance, Sirius and Lupin had to go.

With Sirius, it was easy. He would have to leave that night anyway, there would be Ministry officials all over Hogwarts the following morning. As for Lupin, Dumbledore would try to send him with Sirius.

When Harry found out that Sirius was leaving, he clung to him pathetically. It had been an exhausting day, and Harry wanted to stay in the safety of the three people he believed cared most about him in the world. But there would just be Snape with him that night, he thought miserably when he realized that Dumbledore and Lupin were leaving as well.

Sirius sat on the edge of Harry's bed, trying to calm him, reluctant to leave. He knew Snape felt that proper discipline had not been applied after Harry's latest caper. Sirius loathed to leave Harry with him.

Outside the door, Dumbledore pulled Snape aside, intending to continue their conversation, hoping for an answer before he left Hogwarts again.

But Snape would have none of that.

"Look at them! Just look!" he gestured wildly.

Dumbledore looked. He sensed a change in Snape, and didn't like it.

"I see nothing new," he replied. "They've always been close. Let us set them aside for the moment. What matters right now is your answer. Tell me, what do you want to happen?"

"Does it really matter?" Snape demanded. "There's your guardian!"

"Severus, he sensible," Dumbledore's voice held a hint of the frustration he felt. "You know Sirius is still a fugitive. You must think. What is the best for Harry?"

"What's best for him?" Snape repeated. He was looking at the two again. He recalled how pale and quiet the boy had been through the weeks that they had spent virtually alone at Hogwarts. There was none of that on his face now. He was holding out one hand to Sirius, reluctant to let him go. If there was one thing Snape understood, to hunger for something unattainable was that. Bitter realization washed over him.

"He wants him. Isn't that's what's best?" Snape's lips pressed together until they turned white.

"Of course Harry wants to live with Sirius. Harry believes him to be the only semblance of family that he has left. But Severus, that's just not realistic. It may be years before Sirius' innocence can be conclusively proven."

"I didn't mean . . ." Snape faced Dumbledore. He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing.

"Sirius wants him," he finally went on. "That is what I meant. Sirius wants the boy."

"Are you saying you do not?" Dumbledore's face twitched.

"What difference does it make, if I could never make him feel it?"

Having no answer for that, Dumbledore clung to the strongest argument that was still at his disposal, "All that still means little in light of the fact that Sirius . . ."

"It can be conclusively proven right now."

Dumbledore shook his head, perplexed, "What?"

"Wait," Snape disappeared down the dungeons stairwell. A minute later he was back, with a draped container in his hands.

"Here," he shoved it roughly into Dumbledore's arms. "This, I believe, will settle all accounts." 


	13. Chapter 12

"I tried," Sirius sat down with a frustrated sigh.

"Is he still sulking down in the dungeons?" Lupin looked at him over a ministry report.

"Sulking doesn't seem to describe it," Sirius reached for one of the many reports that crowded the length of the staffroom table.

"I don't see why," Lupin smirked. "He got what he wanted."

"Do you presume to know what he wanted?" Dumbledore's soft voice interrupted from the doorway.

"He made his feelings abundantly clear, Albus," Sirius protested. "He doesn't care about Harry."

"Is that fair?" Dumbledore looked gravely down at him.

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. Ever since he found out that it was Snape who had provided the evidence that finally exonerated him, he had been uncomfortable around his old enemy. What he couldn't understand was _why_ Snape had done it. Unable to comprehend, he grasped at a more palpable explanation. Strange, how easy it was to vilify someone to whom you owed a great debt.

"I tried to thank him." He resented Dumbledore's implication that he was ungrateful. "He would have none of that. Didn't let me past the doorway. Had some kind of shield around it."

Dumbledore sighed. There was blame enough to go around.

"I suppose," Sirius went on, "that he must be very disappointed. Imagine what an advantage having Pettigrew would have been for him."

He was immediately sorry. Even Lupin, who certainly knew Snape's personality first hand, was looking disturbed.

"What evidence . . ." Dumbledore had to stop and start again. "What evidence do you have to suggest that under any circumstance Severus would have kept Pettigrew from either myself or the Ministry?"

"What happened after my arrival at Hogwarts . . ."

"Occurred almost two years ago. And if you will recall, many of your close friends had a hard time believing your claims. Did you expect more of someone who had disliked you from childhood?"

"No," Sirius admitted grudgingly. There had been many people, whom he had once called friends, who would have done exactly as Snape had. "But back to my point," he tried to steer the conversation back to a safer arena, "was it not convenient how the evidence turned up just when he was in danger of being saddled with guardianship of Harry? I know you meant well, Albus, but perhaps he was right all along, that there is no one who will benefit from the truth."

"Do you believe that?" Dumbledore then turned to Lupin, "and do you?"

"No," Lupin said softly. "As you've always said, Albus, the truth needs to be known before it can be dealt with. He has condemned Harry to live a lie." He looked around the table and his eyes darkened. "We all have."

"You believe we should tell Harry?" Sirius demanded, turning on Lupin.

"At this point it would probably make things worse," Lupin admitted, "but yes, I believe he has a right to know the truth at last."

"Do either of you wish the recall that none of us — NONE OF US — know what the truth is? It seems to me this mess is not of our making!"

"Yes," Dumbledore murmured, "and with that lofty knowledge, none will pick up a mop."

"A fine sentiment, Albus," Sirius countered, "but why lose sight of the most important thing of all? He doesn't want Harry! How could it benefit a child to find out something that hurtful? He grew up with those deplorable Muggles, and all the while he had a living father, who could have claimed him if he chose! What have you to say in defense of that?"

"There is nothing I can say," Dumbledore said evenly. "I don't have all the facts. How can I judge a man based only on evidence that aims to condemn him?"

"I believe you know something of that, Sirius," added Lupin.

"Whose fault is it that the facts are not know? Let him walk in here and speak the truth, if he doesn't want to be condemned. What motive does an innocent man have to conceal the truth?"

"But he does have motive," Lupin frowned. "What happens after he speaks against James and Lily Potter? That is what he would have to live with. He and Harry both."

"Very perceptive, Remus," Dumbledore got up. The conversation was pointless, it was rehashing old points and reopening old wounds. "Now I must go and speak to Harry. The train leaves in one hour."

Harry and Sirius were leaving Hogwarts that afternoon.

Dumbledore felt a heaviness in his heart as he walked up to the Gryffindor tower. How badly things had turned out! Harry would be leaving with Sirius. Snape had locked himself in his office — Dumbledore had made his own attempt to talk to him and had found the door barred just as Sirius had.

He tried to throw off his heavy thoughts as he entered the Gryffindor common room.

Harry was rushing about the room excitedly, gathering up the last of his belongings. His trunk stood open in the center of the room. Less than two weeks remained of summer vacation, but he would be spending them with Sirius, fixing up the small cottage that would from then on be his . . . Home. He hardly dared to believe it yet.

"Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed when he saw the old wizard. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I see that you are almost ready, Harry," Dumbledore looked around the bare room. "The train leaves in an hour."

Harry froze. Very little time remained to ask Dumbledore the thing that had haunted him for days.

"Professor?" he kept his eyes on his trunk as he spoke. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Voldemort told me he had taught Dark Magic to my mother!" Harry tried to control the sudden anger the memory had evoked. "That can't be true!"

"I'm afraid I don't know, Harry," Dumbledore told him. That was the truth.

"But Professor Snape does," Harry said bitterly.

Dumbledore realized in a flash that Harry must have listened in on the conversation that night in the staffroom. How much did he now know? Dumbledore thought back to what was said. Not much. Only enough to know that there was something being concealed from him about his parents.

"Yes," he admitted, "I believe he does."

"And he won't tell!"

"No."

They stood in silence for a moment; Harry struggling with fury, Dumbledore with discouragement.

Finally Harry chose to set aside his bitter thoughts. There was so much for him to be happy about.

"I can't believe I'm going to live with Sirius," he said. "Finally!"

"I'm sure you will be very happy," Dumbledore replied, but Harry could see that his eyes remained sad.

"Aren't you happy for me, Professor?" he asked, a little hurt that Dumbledore didn't share in his excitement.

"Of course," Dumbledore replied, speaking only the half-truth.

He didn't doubt that Harry would be happy with Sirius. Perhaps far happier than he could be with Snape. But what about when the truth came to light? Dumbledore had no doubt that someday, somehow, it would. Harry had only a few years of childhood left, someday he might come to see them as time that was wasted. No matter what the circumstances of their separation, no father and son could forge a relationship quite as strong once the child was a man himself. A rift would always remain, unless the few years that were left were used to build a bridge between them.

Somehow Dumbledore knew that when Harry returned to Hogwarts for his fifth year of study, Snape would treat him as callously as he had always done before. And later, when the truth was known, it might just be too late.

Harry had closed his trunk, the click of the lock registering in Dumbledore's mind with a cold finality.

They walked in silence to the entrance hall, where Sirius waited. In the distance the unmistakable whistle of the Hogwarts Express could be faintly heard.

Snape heard it too, down in the dungeons.

He ignored it, trying to bury his thoughts in the book in front of him, though the words seemed to dance across the page._ Frog eyes . . . two grams of lizard tongue . . . a pinch of powdered root of asphodel_ . . . he didn't know or care what potion he was making, and the cauldron on his desk spat angry red flecks onto his robes.

They would be gone in another few minutes. But what did it matter? He would see the boy when the term started. Could continue to watch him from a distance, the way he had always done, ever since that blasted Sorting Hat had screamed out _Gryffindor!_ and placed _his son_ into a rival house!

At least he wouldn't have to see much of Black anymore, he thought bitterly.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts position would be open again this year, but even if Dumbledore failed to offer it to him, Snape knew with certainty that he would not dare to offer it to Sirius. Maybe Lupin would get the job again. Snape didn't care.

It's done! He heard the newly installed iron door of Hogwarts shut with a clang somewhere above, at the same time as his cauldron finally boiled over and a scarlet flood spilled over the desk to the dungeon floor.

He left the room, letting the door slam shut after him, and headed for the Astronomy Tower, the only place at Hogwarts from which he could watch the train depart. 


	14. Chapter 13

In their compartment on board the Hogwarts Express, Harry brooded as he stared out the window.

For the first hour he and Sirius had been almost deliriously happy. They were on their way home. For Harry, it would be the first true home he ever had. For Sirius, it would be the first safe haven he had known in over a decade.

Then, dark thoughts had crept into Harry's mind. He still had so many unanswered questions. He couldn't shake them, and finally Sirius had left him alone, letting him gaze out the window silently.

Harry's thoughts were jumbled. Snatches of conversations he had overheard, bits of facts he had picked up over the years, all mixed together and whirled madly inside his head.

His parents had died for him . . . But his mother had learned spells from Voldemort? No, it couldn't be, it just couldn't be.

The witch with the food cart appeared at the compartment door, but Harry wasn't hungry and only shook his head when Sirius asked if he wanted anything.

The Sorting Hat had almost placed him in Slytherin. True, even two children of the same parents were sometimes placed in different houses, but with both of Harry's parents having been Gryffindors . . .

Voldemort had offered his mother a choice, to stand aside and live, or to protect Harry and die. Harry knew this much from reliving his parents' final moments during the times he was affected by the Dementors. Why had Voldemort, usually merciless to anyone who stood in his way, made this unprecedented offer to Harry's mother?

Harry stumbled out of the compartment, feeling suffocated. He went to the lavatory to splash cold water on his face, thinking it might help clear his head. He gazed into the mirror.

What had they said about his parents?

They'd said he was condemned to live a lie. And Snape had insinuated that there was something bad to be said about James and Lily Potter.

He looked like James Potter. The same black hair, the glasses . . . How many people had remarked how much he looked like his father? And he believed it, but for the first time he noticed that there were no other features on his face that could clearly be attributed to either of his parents. He drew up a mental picture of his father, the way he looked in the photos Harry had of his parents. He did look like him! Harry shook his head stubbornly. _Of course_ he did.

But he kept looking into his own green eyes, the only thing he seemed to have of his mother.

What had she done that was so terrible it couldn't be spoken of?

He felt that not knowing the truth would rip him apart inside. Maybe the truth would too, he thought, but he would get no rest until he knew it.

_I intend to let him live in peace!_ Harry heard Snape's angry voice again in his head, and felt his own anger rise.

He shook his head again. He didn't want to remember any more. This was supposed to be a happy day, the happiest day of his life! Why wouldn't his thoughts stop tormenting him?

He went back to the compartment, forcing his face into a smile when Sirius looked up.

Enough of this glum silence!

"I still can't believe we're finally going to be together," he said, trying to recapture the lighthearted happiness of that knowledge. "I wonder what would have happened if . . ."

He stopped, not wanting to say something that might make Sirius remember the long time he had spent in hiding. What was the matter with him? Couldn't he say two sentences without referring to something grim?

"You would have stayed at Hogwarts," Sirius replied.

"With Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked, surprised.

One moment too many passed by while Sirius gathered his thoughts.

"With _Snape_?" Harry exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes," Sirius answered shortly. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to be having.

"How awful would that have been? I've had enough of those dungeons to last me a lifetime."

Harry had wanted Sirius to agree with him, to laugh along with him. But Sirius' face was strangely drawn and apathetic.

"I mean, _he_ wouldn't have wanted that either!" Harry continued, a little desperately. "It's just lucky that he was able to capture Wormtail when he did!"

Sirius drew a shaky breath. He recalled Dumbledore's final words to him as they parted.

"There is nothing hidden that shall not be revealed in time," Dumbledore had said. "It's up to you now. You can either harm, or lay the foundation for healing."

He hadn't understood then, but he understood now. Someday Harry would find out the truth. Sirius was the most likely person he would turn to for comfort when he needed it, but only if he believed Sirius to be a sympathetic confidant. Whatever he said against Snape now would come back to haunt him then.

"He did want you," he said reluctantly. "But he believed that you would be happier with me. Our dislike of each other didn't stretch as far as wanting me to remain a fugitive forever, when he knew I was innocent. If he had been made your guardian, I'm sure he would have done his best to . . ."

_I intend to let him live in peace!_ Flashed like a bolt of lightning across Harry's brain, its new meaning searing right into his heart. Like a puzzle, the jumbled pieces fit together inside his mind.

He jerked back in his seat, so hard that his head slammed against the compartment wall.

Sirius startled, and leaned toward him in alarm, reaching out his hand toward Harry's. But Harry stood up before his godfather could touch him.

On Harry's flushed face was a mixture of determination and trepidation.

"Stop the train." 


	15. Chapter 14

In his dungeon office, Snape worked on copying out some potions that he intended to teach that year.

He had never done so before, considering it a waste of time, but now he was glad to have something to keep him busy. If he broke his concentration, his thoughts became too uncomfortable.

He refused to join Lupin and Dumbledore for dinner.

He got up to refill his inkwell, and his foot hit something on the floor.

He bent down and picked it up. It was the small flask, a few grains of pink powder still clinging to it's neck. He flung it down.

It was the damn candlelight that made his eyes burn! Perhaps he would retire early, take a sleep potion, and . . .

He had turned toward the door, and found himself staring at the last person he had expected to see at Hogwarts that night.

Harry had been standing in the doorway for some time, watching Snape silently.

He had arrived back at Hogwarts twenty minutes earlier, had evaded both Dumbledore and Lupin and left to Sirius the uncomfortable job of explaining, and had run down the dungeons staircase. His steps had slowed only as he walked down the dim corridor toward the only room where a light was visible.

He had stood there, and looked, and struggled with his conflicting thoughts.

Snape didn't want him! Hadn't Harry overheard him say so? He would just get the information he wanted, and get out as fast as he could. He could ignore the truth once he knew it! All he needed was to stop the tormenting thoughts in his head, and that would only happen once all his questions were finally answered.

There, Snape had seen him. It was now or never. He would just walk in, calmly, and demand to know the truth.

Harry stepped inside the room. Then something inside him exploded. He began to tremble, shaking with fury; his hands clenched, fingernails digging into his palms.

"What did that fool tell you?" Snape demanded, understanding without needing to be told that Harry knew or suspected the truth.

"No one told me!" Harry felt his voice explode out of him. "They didn't have to!"

Snape looked at him, stunned by his anger.

"I'm here for the truth! You will tell me!" his anger faltered under Snape's stare. "You will," he finished, softly.

"Why?" Snape's eyes pierced Harry's.

"Because I can't live with the lies anymore!"

"But you think you could live with the truth?" Snape laughed harshly, not knowing how the sound grated on Harry's raw nerves. As always, the stupid boy didn't understand what was good for him. He'd tell him what he'd told Dumbledore — that the truth was better buried.

"I could!"

"Liar," Snape laughed again. That foolish little . . .

Harry stepped closer to Snape, then couldn't stop. His anger exploded again.

"Tell me! JUST TELL ME!" he shouted.

Snape stepped back involuntarily.

"The truth is harder to live with than any lie you've been told!" he felt his own anger rising quickly.

"It's not up to you to decide!" Harry made another step toward him, so close now that Snape could see tiny beads of sweat on his forehead.

"It is. I'm the one who would have to live with the consequences!"

Harry fell back slightly, his eyes widening.

"Then it's true?" he gasped.

"I thought you said you knew," Snape scowled. What game was this?

"I knew . . . I didn't want to believe." Harry's hands dropped helplessly to his sides.

"And yet you think you can handle the whole truth?" Snape's mocking words cut into him.

"You . . . Made . . . Me . . . Hate . . . You . . ." Harry didn't meet Snape's eyes. His voice wavered. "All this time! I hated you!"

Snape didn't answer him. What could he say? He couldn't very well deny it.

He stayed silent too long.

"You don't want me," Harry's voice was low. A statement rather than a question.

"I did . . ." Snape began, but was interrupted.

"Then why did you leave me with the Muggles for ten years?"

"You would have rather lived with me?" Snape asked. He didn't believe it for a moment.

"Rather than the Dursleys? I would have!" Harry recalled bitterly everything that he had suffered before finally coming to Hogwarts, as well as the terrible summers.

"Now who conceals the truth!" Snape sneered. "I thought you said you hated me."

"I wouldn't have, if I had known!"

Maybe that was true, Snape thought. But he couldn't have taken the boy right after James and Lily Potter had died. It had been years before he had gained back the trust of enough people — mainly at Hogwarts — to have considered it. And he had gone to the Dursleys' residence then . . .

He recalled how he had stood outside the house that night, looking up at the dark windows, imagining coming to Dumbledore with his story. He had turned away, without a doubt that he was doing the right thing for everyone.

He wanted to explain . . .

Harry didn't give him the chance.

"I know the truth now. And I do . . ." his voice shook. "I hate you."

The words pierced Snape like a sword as he looked, momentarily stunned, into the boy's wrathful eyes.

Then Harry's face crumpled. He whirled around and ran for the door.

Snape tried to catch his arm, but too late.

Harry was almost at the door, almost away from the cold dungeon room where he had poured out his anger and pain and received only more pain in exchanged.

The door slammed in front of him. He pounded on it with his fists until his hands felt raw. Then he stood still, his eyes closed tightly, his shoulders shaking.

Behind him, Snape stood frozen.

The worst part of the secret he had concealed for over a decade was now out. There was very little truth left to tell. He wouldn't have bothered to hide it in the first place, if it didn't all lead back to the fact of the boy's paternity.

"Stop crying," he tried to make his voice take any tone other than the hard, sarcastic one it was used to. "I will tell you the truth, if that's what you want."

He realized how ridiculous it was, trying to bribe the boy into silence. He didn't know what else he could do with him. It was all very well to lock the door and not allow him to run to the comfort of Sirius' arms, but what now?

Harry had crumpled to the floor, refusing to face Snape.

"What more do you want?" Snape asked helplessly.

Harry looked up at last. His eyes met Snape's. Accusing, burning eyes. Sad, heartsick eyes.

"Ridiculous!" Snape scoffed. "What kind of father do you think I would make? You have _him_," he gestured angrily upward where he believed Sirius to be waiting to take Harry as soon as Harry returned to his senses.

Harry said nothing.

"Foolish boy! Is _this_ what you want for yourself?" Snape gestured wildly around the dungeon office.

"I don't want to be despised," Harry said at last, pulling himself off the cold stone. "Open the door."

The lock clicked behind him. He opened it, but turned back to Snape.

"Just tell me one thing," he struggled to make his voice calm. "Why do you?"

"I never did," Snape shook his head sadly.

"The way you treated me, I don't believe it."

Snape looked at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"It was easier."

"Easier?" Harry demanded.

"Easier to believe I had made the right choice, if I could keep you at a distance."

He sighed and continued.

"You were nothing like I imagined you would be. At every turn I thought I could see what you would have been had I raised you."

Harry felt another stab of pain. _Whose fault was that?_ he wondered angrily.

They stared at each other wordlessly. All that could be said, had been.

Harry looked at Snape, then at the light flooding down the staircase at the end of the corridor, and back again.

Upstairs he knew three people were waiting, three people whose love and acceptance he never need doubt. Two would support any decision he made. And one could take him away to where he could be happy . . . But only if he could forget . . .

Harry shut the door, and leaned heavily against it for support.

"Tell me the truth." 


	16. Chapter 15

When Harry emerged out of the dungeons, he found Dumbledore, Lupin, and Sirius sitting silently in the staffroom. They watched him approach, but they neither moved nor spoke.

The only remaining evidence of the two hours he had spent below was the paleness of his face and the dark circles under his eyes.

They expected him to speak, but Harry didn't know where to begin.

"Did you find out what you wanted to know, Harry?" Dumbledore finally broke the silence.

"I did, Professor," Harry refused to meet Sirius' eyes. "And I . . ."

Sirius made it easy for him.

"I will bring in your trunk," he tried to make his voice sound light. He felt like he needed some fresh air anyway. The room had suddenly grown close.

Harry looked down at the floor miserably. He had hurt Sirius terribly, he knew.

When Sirius had left, Dumbledore took Harry's hand gently.

"He will be alright, Harry."

"I've hurt the one person I would never want to hurt!" Harry's voice wavered. "How can it be alright?"

"He wants what's best for you," Dumbledore told him, "and he will come to understand your choice."

"When he does, maybe he can explain it to me," Harry smiled weakly.

It was too late that night to do anything but retire. Harry walked up the many staircases to Gryffindor tower, feeling exhausted.

He fell asleep quickly, and woke up the next morning to the sound of last minute reconstruction going on throughout the school.

It was less than two weeks until the start of his fifth year at Hogwarts. He found that for the first time since he came to Hogwarts, he was dreading it. He would have to tell his friends, and he couldn't begin to imagine what their reaction might be. He would have to part with Sirius, who would be leaving the school that night.

That was the hardest thing of all. Harry was overcome with misery when he thought of Sirius. He saw again the profound sadness on his godfather's face, which try as he might he couldn't hide.

Sirius _had_ tried. It was impossible not to feel robbed. For a long time, Harry had been central in his existence. Now he faced going home to his newly bought house — alone. It was a bitter feeling.

He tried to be happy for Harry, but although his face obeyed his commands to smile and look cheerful, his eyes never did.

"If I had a dungeon," he had told Dumbledore after an uncomfortable breakfast, "I would hide there."

It was amazing how much he understood Snape now. The tables had turned, and he found himself no better at making the sacrifice.

Harry spent the better part of the day with Sirius, knowing that it would be their last for a while. How long, he didn't know.

Time seemed to speed up as if by magic as they sat in the Great Hall, trying to talk of anything but the fact that the hour of their parting was fast approaching. At last they had to face it.

"Promise you'll write to me?" Harry begged. "I need you in my life."

Sirius promised, just as he had promised to return to Hogwarts during the term, but Harry knew that nothing would ever be the same between them.

Lost in each other, they never suspected that from the top of the hidden staircase behind the staff table, their conversation had been overheard.

Snape hadn't been spying on purpose. He had merely taken a shortcut out of the dungeons, and stopped in his tracks when he heard their voices. The newly replaced panel did not quite fit, and through the small crack the words had drifted down to him. He didn't know why he had stood and listened for so long, except that old habits died hard.

Dumbledore and Lupin chose to leave all three of them alone; Harry, Sirius, and Snape. Snape spent most of his time down in the dungeons, though they doubted that this time he sulked. Harry and Sirius deserved time alone with each other on their last day together.

Dumbledore had received another stack of reports from the Ministry, and they sat in the staffroom going through them. Time passed surprisingly quickly that day, though it was tedious work.

Harry was first to walk in. Sirius had left for the train station, to get his things on board. He would be back long enough to say a final goodbye.

Seeing Dumbledore and Lupin working, he sat down quietly and watched. He had made peace with the fact that he was not allowed to see Ministry reports, and didn't try to challenge that rule.

Snape came in soon after. He looked with disdain at the reports on the table; in the last few days he had read more of them than he ever cared to see again.

"I brought you your potion," he said to Lupin, holding out a small bottle.

"Thank you, Severus," Lupin took it from him.

"While you are both here," Dumbledore addressed Snape and Lupin as he gestured for Snape to sit down, "there is one more piece of business that we must take care of before the term begins."

He looked at them, smiling.

"I'm happy to announce that there are two open positions at Hogwarts. The first, Care of Magical Creatures, is vacated because Hagrid intends to spend the next year in the mountains, continuing the important work he started. I offer the job to you, Remus. Will you accept?"

"I accept," Lupin stood up and shook Dumbledore's hand, almost formally.

"The second," Dumbledore paused, "concerns you, Severus. It appears that we are yet again without a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. I seem to recall that you once wanted the job."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled — he knew all too well how long Snape had been after that position.

But there was nothing of the expected cheer on Snape's face. For many years he had wanted to teach Defense. His experience that summer only affirmed this desire. And yet, there was his research, his unfinished potions, his dungeon dominion below the castle . . .

"Thank you Albus," he said slowly, "but I don't believe that I want a change of positions. I'm quite comfortable as Potions Master. "Besides," he suppressed a smile, "if I leave my post, who would keep in check the Werewolf?" Lacking the sneer, it was only a friendly dig.

Harry couldn't believe it. Snape was refusing a job teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?

Then he looked up, saw Snape's face, and understood. Snape wasn't refusing the job, he was sacrificing it. Not for Sirius. No, their hatred for each other was as yet only beginning to diminish. For Harry.

On the other side of the table, Dumbledore realized the same.

"Then," he said, feigning ignorance, "I expect I'll need to place yet another advertisement for a Defense instructor in the paper."

"Only if you wish to waste twelve sickles," Snape had expected a little more percipience on the headmaster's part.

Sirius, back from the station and looking for Harry, entered in time to overhear.

"Waste twelve sickles on what?" he asked.

"Another advertisement for a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor," Dumbledore sighed exaggeratedly. "The fifth year in a row — what terrible luck."

"I thought . . ." Sirius looked confusedly between Snape and Dumbledore.

"Severus wishes to remain at his current position," Dumbledore explained. His eyes twinkled. "Say, Sirius, you wouldn't happen to be interested in the job?"

"As a matter of fact . . ." Sirius looked at Harry. If he was working at Hogwarts, he could see Harry on a daily basis.

But that was the point, he understood suddenly.

"Well then," Dumbledore went on, "I hope two weeks will be enough time for you to prepare a curriculum. Perhaps Remus can help you with that, being already familiar with the demands of the position."

"Thank you, Albus," then Sirius turned to Snape, who had turned to leave the room, "and thank you, Severus," he called after him, able to admit for the first time that he had been mistaken all along.

"Thank me?" Snape turned to look at Sirius. "I don't know what for. But really, I wish you the best of luck." He paused, and suddenly a peculiar gleam lit his eyes. "I heard a rumor that the job is jinxed."

He swept out of the room, leaving four pairs of eyes staring after him.

—————————————— THE END ——————————————


	17. Notes

This is just a section with some notes about this story. Mostly it's just my thinking process for parts of the story, in case anyone actually cares how I came up with some of the ideas.

* * *

**Lily Potter**

I've been wondering for a long time why she was almost spared. Seemed very strange to me. I wrote another fanfic (not good enough to share online) a while back that examined this more closely, and there was only one explanation that seemed to make sense to me.

Begging Voldemort? What evidence is there that begging and pleading ever did any good? She and Voldemort (in their exchange) seemed to be speaking quite familiarly. Very strange, again.

I know many people like Lily, but I just never did. Sorry. We all have our preferences. I'm sure many people hate Snape. It's a matter of opinion and it's best not to argue too much about it.

**Peter Pettigrew / Wormtail**

I know the whole Harry and Wormtail exchange was basically exactly like the Harry and Voldemort exchange just a few chapters earlier. Sorry! Lack of imagination. But I had to do something with him, because that was the only way Snape would get his hands on Pettigrew, which was rather necessary if he was to sacrifice Harry to Sirius in the following chapter. And I had to get Harry out of the dungeons in some way, or else there would be no way to get Dumbledore, Lupin, and Sirius out of there while leaving Snape alone long enough to hide Pettigrew.

**Killing Curse**

Harry gets away with it the same way Mad-Eye Moody did in _Goblet of Fire_. Sure, in theory it's a life-sentence in Azkaban for using any of the Unforgiveables, but the Ministry did not descend upon Hogwarts after Moody put an entire classroom full of students under the mind-control curse, so what evidence is there that anything would happen to Harry as a result of using an Unforgiveable against Voldemort? Even without this argument, I doubt that anyone who killed Voldemort would be punished in any shape or form. The likely consequences would be Harry's own conscience (using such powerful/awful Dark Magic), and the reactions of those around him.

As far as how Harry managed the curse at all, I think I explained it as well as was possible. He is about to die. He knows it. He doesn't believe that anything he does will make any difference. But as he sees Voldemort about to kill him, he makes the decision to fight -- even though he knows he can't win. Would it make any sense for him to try to curse Voldemort with boils? No. Under the circumstances there is only one curse he can use, if, like the says, he is going to fight with everything that is available to him.

We know that Harry occasionally pulls out of himself powers/strengths that can't really be explained. It takes real power to make the curse work (as Moody said in _Goblet of Fire_, all the students could point their wands at him and say the incantation but he wouldn't have gotten more than a nosebleed), but I decided that as he faced certain death Harry managed to find the necessary strength within himself.... just like when he pulled Godric Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat.

Maybe it doesn't quite make sense... but oh well. I rest my case. There are a lot of fanfics out there in which Voldemort dies, and the simple truth is that it's pretty darn near impossible to kill him off in a way that makes complete sense. My way may be no better, but I hope not the worst possible.

**The Potion**

The Potion in Chapter 9 is basically from my own imagination, but with a basis in canon. In the books, there is at least one spell / potion that seems to suggest that the relationship between a father and son (don't know about daughters) is very important. So, I just used some Latin words that seemed to make sense and sounded good, and an exotic plant (yes, fireweed is indeed a real plant!), and made up the potion. Obviously, blood had to be in there, or else how was I supposed to reveal Snape to be Harry's father without using the old cliche of a paternity spell?!

**The Truth**

How does Harry figure out the truth?

The same way that adopted children sometimes manage to figure out that they're adopted, even though the truth was concealed. Bits of information float around and around in the brain, until suddenly they just click together. Of course, writing it out is very difficult. How do you really explain the thinking process that would bring someone to imagine the unimaginable?

Remember, he's heard quite a bit in the last few days -- overheard conversations, his talk with Dumbledore, what Sirius said, etc, etc.

**Sirius Not Allowed In**

Why doesn't Snape let Sirius in?

You mean besides the fact that they hate each other?

One reason he doesn't let Sirius is the same reason that he doesn't want Lupin around. Every time either of them is there, Snape gets pushed aside. The last thing he wants is for them to be hanging around, telling him how to manage Harry.

**Dumbledore On The Way?**

I know -- confusing.

We know that between the time Harry leaves the castle and the time he comes back, they have time to contact Dumbledore. You can infer that Lupin and Sirius had arrived just before the attack, and Sirius had stayed outside while Lupin went in. Harry just made the worst move at the worst possible time to get himself into the mess that he did.

HOWEVER, there is no evidence (for or against) that they knew by the time they arrived at Hogwarts that an attack was coming. Most likely, the attack began while Harry was missing, and that's when they contacted Dumbledore.

**The Ghosts**

Don't ask. :-)

I just couldn't have ghosts and Peeves floating around Hogwarts, interrupting everything.

I suppose it's possible that the ghosts had left (they seem to be free to move about, it is not a known fact that they're bound to the castle). And it's possible that Dumbledore or someone else got rid of Peeves. Maybe Snape. Who'd want to be spending a summer at Hogwarts and have Peeves around?

Filch is gone because like all the rest of the staff he is free to leave during summer. There is no evidence that he doesn't have a home somewhere. 


End file.
